


Renaissance Revival

by druseerla



Series: Restoration [1]
Category: Angel: the Series, Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV)
Genre: A little bit of angst, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angel S5, F/F, F/M, M/M, Victorian, and ill update the rating accordingly, and to fall embarrassingly in love with buffy of course, andrew is everyone's gay uncle, but not a lot bc im a baby, dawn is a good character you all can fight me, dorks being dorks, eve and nina are NOT invited, everyone is gay btw literally all of them, fixing s4 nonsense, hes repressed see, if you dont love harmony too bad for you, it WILL get sexy later, lilah morgan is BACK & she gets to flirt with everybody, lorne is the best and mb he gets a bf later who knows :-P, made-up science bc we have no idea what we're doing, makeover montage, prudishness but in a hot way, this fic only exists because i wanted to give william sexual frustration & guilt, william is stuffy & flustered and its adorable
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-27
Updated: 2021-02-16
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:48:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 22,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28361946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/druseerla/pseuds/druseerla
Summary: After burning up in the Hellmouth, right on schedule, Spike crashes into Angel’s office via a mysterious package in the mail- only this time, he’s human, and he doesn’t remember anything between now and the moment he was bitten.
Relationships: Angel (BtVS)/Cordelia Chase, Charles Gunn/Wesley Wyndam-Pryce, Spike/Buffy Summers, Winifred "Fred" Burkle/Willow Rosenberg
Series: Restoration [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2077080
Comments: 9
Kudos: 40





	1. Aperture

The elevator doors parted with a chime, humans, demons, vampires, beings of every sort poured out onto the floor of Wolfram & Hart. Buffy breezed into the foyer, golden hair and ruby red dress seriously skewing the drab muted greys and browns of the office space, earning her brief and downright creepy looks from some (maybe not the blood coloured dress next time). She took in the enormity of the law firm- a staircase winding to the higher floors, a blonde secretary seated at the main desk (but of course Angel’s secretary would be a cute blonde, who just so happened to be dressed in red), open and echoey, glass walls within glass walls. Light scattered through the whole building yet there was a notable absence of flaming vamps (perks of evilness and dirty money, she supposed). She advanced towards the blonde secretary, who, “Harmony?!” 

“Ugh, hold on,” she said absently, holding a manicured finger in front of Buffy’s face, fixated on a notepad filled with bubbly handwriting, a phone sandwiched between her cheek and shoulder. 

“No, not you, Mr.- Wait, what was your name? Ohh, right, Mr. Lord-of-Death-and-Chaos, go on, continue,” she said, rolling her eyes and doodling a grinning devil in the corner of the pad. Buffy blinked in disbelief. Angel was _so_ going to have to explain himself. She turned on her heel and strode decisively through the largest doorway, hoping for Angel’s office...

‘Excuse me! You can’t just go in there uninvited, miss, uh, whatever-your-name-is!’ Harmony called out, still not looking up.

She had a second to take in several figures around a large desk arguing intensely before the conversation suddenly ceased and six pairs of eyes were staring her way.

“Huh— I just walked into some big important meeting, didn’t I?” 

She laughed awkwardly into the ensuing silence.“Just going to back out now, love the fancy new digs, those vamp-proof windows sure are something, I guess Harmony’s your secretary now huh, that’s a new one,” she rambled, inching backwards towards the double doors she’d just burst through. 

“Buffy?” Angel was the first to speak, always with the big brown puppy eyes.

“You’re- You’re Buffy! Oh my god!” A tall pretty woman with a bright smile stepped out of the group and hastened towards her. “We’ve heard so much about you! Hey, hi, I’m Fred,” she said, shaking Buffy’s hand vigorously and ducking her head, fixing her with a curious stare before seeming to remember herself and intoning in a faux-important voice, “‘Winifred Burkle, Head of the Practical Science Department at Wolfram & Hart’,” she grinned conspiratorially, “Although I guess that’s only a recent development, all of us are kind of new to the whole evil law firm deal.”

“Uh, nice to meet you, Fred; I’m sorry, I think I’ve interrupted you all- Wait, is that... Wesley??”

“Indeed,” Wesley said dryly, “Hello, Miss Summers.”

“Hey, if we’re all introducing ourselves, I’m Charles Gunn,’ said a handsome man standing up from a plush red chair, smiling amiably, “Been working with Angel and the gang for a while now, heard some interesting things about you.” 

“Okay, everyone, cool it,” Angel said tersely, “I think we’re all forgetting that-“

“Angelcakes, it’s not often your long-lost-love rolls into town out of the blue, business can be taken care of after I’ve gotten the chance to introduce myself to this ray of sunshine. Lorne,” a personable green demon with red horns in a smart grey suit held his hand out to Buffy, which she gingerly shook, not knowing what else to do (demons in bespoke tailoring, now she knew she’d seen everything), “You kinda walked into a pretty charged meeting just now- the air was crackling enough even before you waltzed in here in that darling little dress- what is that, Calvin Klein?” He raised his eyebrows at her and then looked over at Angel, “But we can talk fashion later- the tension in here is so thick I can practically feel my hair stand up… even more than it already is.” He chuckled, and the room lapsed back into silence.

“Nice to meet you all,” she said eventually, before craning her head towards a buff long-haired man near Angel, “And you are?”

“Don’t mind him,” Angel stepped in front of him, “He’s nobody.”

“Actually,” the man stepped out from behind Angel, “My name is Lindsey McDonald, I’m the liaison between your boyfriend here and the senior partners.”

“Not my boyfriend. But wait, that’d mean you’re… his boss?” 

“Got it in one, Miss Summers.” He flashed her a rakish smile, his blue eyes sparkling. Angel made a disgusted noise.

“Uh-huh, noticed the cranky, and hey, I thought Will told me Cordelia was working with you?”

Angel looked down, “Cordy, she’s, uh…”

“She’s sick,” Gunn interjected, and Fred added “Comatose and not currently responding to treatment.”

“Oh.” Great, she’d just made with the awkward again, everyone’s faces falling, their mouths set in grim lines. Lindsey shrugged, smirking a little.

“Hate to break up the fun but now that we all know each other, we can get back to the business we were at before blondie walked in, when Charlie here told us he let Wolfram & Hart go open season on his pretty little noggin,” Lorne said, shooting important looks at everyone in the room, “Because, you know, who knows what else they could’ve slipped in there.” He glanced at Gunn apologetically. “It’s not like I want to accuse you of anything, but-”

Gunn sighed, sliding his hands into his pockets. “But you know we can’t allow for the possibility that any of us could be evil, I get it, I knew you’d get antsy. I’ll sing for you later, okay? It’s all good.”

“I am a little concerned that you’re taking this so lightly.” Wesley said severely, looking at Gunn with a pinched expression, and, god, Wesley had seriously serious-ened? It seemed like Buffy had missed a lot since she’d last seen him. Not that there was anything she was part of here in LA to miss anyway- She felt a sharp stab of guilt and pain learning of Cordelia’s condition and hearing the break in Angel’s voice as he’d tried to tell her.

“Are you guys forgetting that we all took a deal with the devil?” Gunn responded, “Before you all concern yourselves about my newly law-imbued brain, look around, we’re already in the belly of the beast.” 

“-Wait, sing?” Buffy had lost the thread of this conversation, feeling much with the interloping on this cosy little dynamic.

“Oh,” Lorne smiled brightly, “I read people’s auras, their futures, they just need to give me an opening. Cue singing a little ditty, really lays the soul, or unsoul, bare. I used to own a nice little karaoke bar, as a matter of fact, but... ”

“Useful,” Buffy nodded, then wrinkled her nose, “though maybe a little intrusive. And, hey, that’s gotta add a whole new layer to stagefright.”

“Not to mention the hecklers,” Angel added sotto voce. 

“Oh, sweet Angelcakes-” Lorne began before Lindsey cut in, “I seem to recall crowds cheering for an encore whenever _I_ sang.”

“Hold on, you’re telling me Angel _sang_? _Angel?_ Like, onstage, in front of other _people_?” Buffy threw an incredulous look at the man in question.

‘You have no idea. We couldn’t tear him away from the limelight,” Gunn grinned.

“He’s really-” Fred made a pained expression, “His voice really-”

“I haven’t heard another one like it,” Wesley substituted.

“Save it.” Angel leant against his desk, crossing his arms, “Buffy, why are you here?”

“Alright, Mr. Change-the-Subject, we’ll move on to that, but I’m _so_ hearing you sing later. I came here to talk about _your_ offer.” She leant to the side, her curls tumbling over her shoulder. “I guess I probably should’ve called. Well, I thought- we think, that is- that your proposition is solid and are glad for the help. Harmony was a little busy with her doodling to ask for whoever deals with the whole property thing, so I thought I’d go straight to the boss.” 

“What-”

“Angel, can I have a word with you? In private.” Wesley cut in, giving him an intense look.

Angel glowered a little but got up and walked with him into a room to the side of the conference room that Buffy hadn’t noticed before. Everyone remaining shared nervous grins in the ensuing uncomfortable silence. They could all hear the telltale low rumble of Angel-anger coming from the conference room and were desperately trying not to look like they were straining to catch Wesley’s terse whispers. Just as Fred smoothed her hands down her lab coat and started to ask “So, is it really true that when you were seventeen you-”, the door opened again, revealing a glowering Angel and contrite Wesley. 

“So,” he said, returning to his desk and flipping absently through the generous stacks of paperwork, “On the question of how much financial aid Wolfram & Hart are able to provide to the newly formed Slayer Organisation-” he broke off, hefting a conspicuous yellow package. “That’s odd.”

“What, that I’d visit you only when I needed something? Not really.”

“No, just. This.” 

“What is it?”

“I’m… not sure. It’s addressed to Wolfram & Hart but to be received by one ‘Buffy Anne Summers’.”

He thrust the parcel towards her for further inspection. “No return address.” 

“It could be from one of Summers' friends, they knew she was visiting, surely,” Wesley reasoned.

“Yeah, but... No return address?” Gunn countered.

“A mysterious gift of nondescript origin,” Fred propped her hand under her chin thoughtfully, “Careful, Buffy, we have a whole security subdivision for mysterious packages, there’s a likelihood it could be a Pandora’s box type scenario, although actually, it was originally termed Pandora’s jar, ‘pithos’ in Greek, thought to be mistranslated by Erasmus into ‘pyxis’, but now the term ‘Pandora’s box’ is heavily ingrained in the public consciousness- another case of rogue folk etymology I guess, there’s a lot of that arou-” Wesley caught her eye and jerked his head towards where Buffy was- “-Oh, I guess you’re opening it already.” 

She stopped dragging a nail across the top to look up. “Oh, uh, it’s- light,” she said, tossing it gently in her hand. “I’m used to taking my chances,” she shrugged and tore it the rest of the way open.

A horribly familiar silver-stoned amulet slipped onto the carpet with a dull thump, the large gem landing face-up, its chain falling just behind. 

“Oh no, I think that’s-” Buffy had time for, before a painfully bright golden light burst from its core, building up until everyone in the room had their arms thrown up shielding their eyes. Buffy felt her blood run cold. Everyone staggered back, the light obscured now by a cloud of swirling grey ashes and dancing sparks. The cloud gradually consolidated itself in the shape of a figure, right arm curiously outstretched. Then came a roaring scream of pain as life was forced back into him and he fell to the ground. 

And there he was.

Just as she’d left him. 

Spike.

His eyes met hers and his agonised expression had time enough to soften into confusion before he croaked “Buffy?”, and slumped forward onto the carpet in a dead faint.

_(Angel Theme~)_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aperture in photography- an opening which light travels through, adjusting the size alters the exposure (the amount of light that travels through) and the depth of field (the sharpness between the foreground and background). Each chapter’s title has been chosen based on an artistic term, this one I liked because it’s the opening chapter, also there’s a running theme of light, Buffy the light of my life<3, W&H’s descriptor of ‘light scattering’, as well as the amulet itself, producing light from a point.  
> I had Buffy in a red dress before I rewatched the first episode of season 5, so when I noticed Harmony had a red dress too? The Buffy and Harmony parallels continue.  
> Probably pretty noticeable that I’ve shoehorned Lindsey into the story, he replaces Eve who, let’s be honest, isn’t the most interesting character and a poor replacement for Lilah. I firmly believe Lindsey has an unrequited crush on Angel and it’s fun seeing them bicker, they bring out each other's inner child (which is pretty close to the surface for both of them actually).  
> I know Renaissance and Revival are like basically the same word but it's an actual term that's used I promise.
> 
> Very much a million million thank yous to my beta reader inkblotdemon @tumblr, who made this fic so so much better, like unbelievably better.<3


	2. Mosaic

Buffy froze. 

His name formed soundlessly on her lips but it felt as though her breath had escaped and left her choking. She dropped heavily to her knees over his body, bringing herself to touch him with a shaking hand. The nicks and grease of his duster were rough against the pads of her fingers, the dreamlike sight of his body curled up on Angel’s grey carpet suddenly all too real. Her eyes stung. She gently rolled him over, taking in the sight of the rivulets of blood streaming from shallow lacerations covering his face, the deeper gash across his forehead, the amulet lying beside his unclenched fingers, sticky and tarnished. Buffy pressed tentative fingers against the forehead wound to try and stem the flow, the blood pumping hot and thick. Her eyes widened and she jerked her head up suddenly, meeting Angel’s unreadable stare. That wasn’t just the erratic thump of her heart she could feel. A pulse, weakening but unmissable, thrummed underneath her hand.

“Angel, He’s..”

“Human.” Angel finished.

The room rushed back into focus. 

Angel was already at Buffy’s side. He clearly couldn’t bring himself to touch her, Spike, or the amulet, instead hovering awkwardly over her shoulder.

“But... how?” Wesley said slowly, wandering over. He knelt down, picking the amulet up by its heavy chain, blood dripping onto the carpet as it swung. “How could that possibly be? There has never, in all of recorded history, been a case of a soulless demon reclaiming its humanity.”

Angel sighed. “That’s not exactly the case here. Spike... got himself a soul.” 

“You didn’t tell us Spike had a soul!” Fred said indignantly.

Buffy shot him a dirty look.

“I didn’t think it was relevant. What difference would it have made?”

“I’d wager it makes a bloody world of difference, Angel, as you well know,” Wesley said irritably. They glared at one another.

Buffy tore her eyes away from the familiar curve of Spike’s cheek to look over her shoulder at Wesley. “What are you talking about?”

“Shanshu.” Fred spoke the word quietly, with a kind of reverence.

“But I thought you said that whole deal was supposed to be for Angel?” Gunn knelt beside Wesley, putting a hand on his shoulder and looking down at the amulet. 

“We don’t know that this is the Shanshu!” Angel said petulantly.

“It never stated anywhere that the prophecy would be fulfilled by Angel specifically,” Wes replied, ignoring Angel, “Only the ‘vampire with a soul’. Naturally, we always assumed it was talking about Angel because he was the only one.” He paused to shoot Angel another look. “That we knew of, anyway. But for this to be the fulfillment of the prophecy as found in the scrolls of Aberjian, Spike would have had to have played a major role in an apocalyptic event..”

“The Hellmouth. Spike closed the Sunnydale Hellmouth. With the amulet.” Buffy spoke almost inaudibly, half-expecting to see flames shoot from between her fingers where they lay on Spike’s face at the memory. 

“Yet another detail that managed to slip Angel’s mind, it seems,” Wesley’s disdain was biting.

“Hey, you’re hardly the poster child for ‘forthcoming’ yourself, Wes.” 

“None of you are helping. What's this whole Shanyu prophecy deal?” Buffy urged. 

“Shan-’shoo’,” Fred corrected, “Shan Yu is the villain from Mulan.”

“It’s a prophecy contained within the Scrolls of Aberjian,” Wesley started, “A text that’s been compiled over more than four thousand years, that foresaw the coming of a-”

“Life from death.” Angel’s voice cut through the room, “The Shanshu prophecy was destined to reward a champion. Your amulet has made it perfectly clear that Spike fits that description well enough.” 

Lorne, who’d been standing by the door talking quietly, snapped his phone closed in time for an entourage of W&H support staff to burst into the room. “While you drama queens have been fussing over the whys and wherefores, I thought the poor man bleeding to death on the expensive carpeting might be in need of a little tender love and care.”

“Right. Thanks.” Reluctantly she drew her hand away from him and as she stood, mindlessly wiped her hand on the skirt of her dress.

“Buffy?” Angel’s hand had somehow migrated to rest on her shoulder. She hadn’t noticed. The touch felt foreign on the bare skin exposed by her dress, his palm so cool that the temperature barely differed from the temperature of the room.

She steeled herself. “So, what, you couldn’t have found the time to tell me about the Shanshu prophecy before you let me take the amulet?”

Angel withdrew his hand. “Would you have chosen differently if I had?”

“The point isn’t whether my choice would be different, the point is that you need to trust me with all the relevant information so I can make an informed-”

She was cut off by a girlish shriek coming from the doorway. 

“Oh my God! Blondie bear!” she clattered into the conference room, elbowing a medic out of the way. “Spikey’s back in LA and I’m supposed to hear this from Tom in accounting?! I’m your personal secretary, Angel, not some random floozy from the typing pool! It's my job to know these things, just so, you know, I can keep your calls waiting and stuff; I hope you know I’m not asking because you think I’m still interested in him or whatever. Because I’m so totally over him. Why does he look so gross and mucky anyway, did you get into a fight?”

Angel and Buffy both stared at her blankly.

“Ugh, tell me that’s not the Slayer.”

“Harmony, we’re kind of in the middle of something-”

“Hi, Harmony.” Buffy replied flatly.”Been a while.”

“I should’ve known you’d be here. Where you go Spike follows. I’d really hoped his twisted little obsession with you was just a phase- a pathetic, childish, morbid phase- but I guess he had to have some kind of hobby to distract himself from how much I broke his heart.” She looked down at Buffy’s sticky hand where it was clutching his duster while medics taped gauze to his forehead. “Wait, oh my god, don’t tell me after I hightailed it out of Sunnyhell you two actually-”

“It’s... he’s a friend.”

“Sure, and I’m just a-” she paused, her lips pouting in thought, “Whatever, it’s not like I care. And I’m way too busy and squicked out to know anyways.” She sniffed, turned on her heel, and walked out of the office again.

“Harmony, can you get me a-” Angel started. 

“I think she’s out of earshot,” Fred told him apologetically.

“When we’ve got a minute you are absolutely telling me what in the umpteen hell dimensions persuaded you to hire her,” Buffy said, raising her eyebrows.

“She does try!” Fred said defensively. “She just… gets distracted an awful lot.”

“Harmageddon has the right idea even if her execution tends towards the chaotic, I think I might move my little caboose on out of here and leave the deep discussion to you folks. I do have an appointment with a client too, who shall remain unnamed- although let’s just say she’s  _ highly in vogue _ .” With a wink, Lorne departed.

“So, Spike somehow ended up working with you?” Wesley dropped the amulet into its package.

“For a while, actually.”

“Since he got his soul?”

“Well, no, before. Involves a chip. Long story. Long, long story,” Buffy said, rolling her eyes.

“A chip? Cheeto?” Fred asked, leaning forwards and resting her chin on her clasped hands.

“Micro.”

“That’s a new one,” Gunn said wryly. “It’s not exactly a picnic working for Angel, soul and all, to say nothing of the few times he’s got a little too happy and-”

“Gunn,” Angel frowned.

Fred sidled up to Wesley and Gunn. “May I?” she gestured at the package. “I’d love to run a few tests on it, I mean what’s the good of a high-tech slightly evil superlab if it’s just sitting there looking all pretty?” 

Wesley smiled slightly and handed it to her. 

“A microchip? The technological kind? Implanted in the cerebral cortex in order to induce nerve stimulation and alter neurological impulses?”

“That’s the one. A gift from the Initiative, one of Maggie Walsh’s pet projects- safe to say it didn’t have the results she intended."

“A gift from the who? Maggie what?” Gunn said.

“Never mind all that,” said Fred, flapping a hand at him, “D’you folks still have that chip somewhere? I bet it’d be fascinating to examine. Is it rattling around in his noggin?”

“No. We paid the Initiative a visit when it started to malfunction- not built to last, I guess- I decided to have it removed.”

“Experimental and... not implanted in a creature they intended to keep, something like that could quickly become volatile. If their test subjects were expected to have, um, a speedy expiration date, it’d make more sense to do a whole bunch of short tests rather than longer experiments. Sounds like rudimentary technology, too, unless they had found a way to suffuse it with magical properties, although,” Fred caught the look Gunn was giving her and flashed Buffy a bright awkward smile, “I guess none of that matters now since it’s been removed. I’ll go take this to the lab.” She tapped the package with her fingernails, gave them a nod, and left just behind the medical staff carefully wheeling Spike out.

“Miss Summers,” Wesley continued after the door had swung shut again. 

“Just Buffy is fine.”

“Of course. Buffy.” He cleared his throat awkwardly. “You have yet to mention how it came to be that Spike got his soul- it may be of crucial importance in understanding what has transpired, if this is indeed a fulfillment of the Shanshu Prophecy.” 

“He got it... for me.” She looked down at the floor. Disclosing that aspect of their relationship felt oddly like a breach of their trust. “He went to see an Asphyx Demon, Lloyd or something, who put him through a whole bunch of Demon Trials. He wasn’t big on talking about them but I gathered they were pretty painful.”

Angel made a disapproving hmph, “I’m sure his intentions were noble.”

“Aw, I think it’s kind of romantic.” Gunn smiled sweetly to himself before looking up and noticing Angel’s stare. “Don’t look at me like that man, I sold my soul for my truck, I have a history with this kind of thing.”

“So I’m supposed to be the truck in this scenario?” Buffy raised an eyebrow at him.

“You should’ve seen her, she was beautiful. But,” he held his hands up in mock surrender, “before I end up on the Slayer’s bad side within the first half-hour of our acquaintance, I think I might make myself useful and head out to make some calls, see where this mysterious present came from. If we can track its footprint and whose hands it's passed through, we should be able to go directly to the source.”

“Do we really want to pour so much time and effort into researching the nature of Spike’s humanity?” Angel gestured to the paperwork cluttering his desk, “Spike’s human. End of story. We finally have all the resources to really make a change, and you’re all willing to distract yourselves with him.”

“It’s not just about Spike, Angel.” Buffy shot back.

“She’s right,” Wesley made a conciliatory step towards Angel, “Whatever this is, it could be a move made to undermine our tenuous hold on Wolfram & Hart, or even some part of a complex chain of events with far-reaching repercussions on the demon world at large. Not only is its origin unknown, but its existence is entirely unconventional, and whoever planted this somehow knew Miss Summers- Buffy- would be here to receive it.”

“Yeah,  _ I _ didn’t even know I’d be here until a couple days ago,” Buffy interjected. 

“Quite. It would be prudent to understand the nature of our predicament before continuing blindly in our efforts towards the greater good. We may even find a way to apply similar circumstances to your own-” he glanced at Angel and cut himself off with a cough.

“I’m with Wes.” Gunn stood directly behind Wes, smiling when he caught his eye. “Full points to him, plus I am a little curious myself... Who’s been in your office besides us, anyways? Harmony, I’d say it’s safe to cross her from the list of possible suspects... Hey, has anyone seen Lindsey since the big show?”

Everyone looked past Angel to where Lindsey had last been seen standing beside the desk, now vacant space.

“That’s disturbing. Does he make a habit of the vanishing act?” Buffy threw a token glance around the room.

“Not that I can remember,” Wes told her.

“No kidding; he stole my move.” Angel said under his breath, walking around to the back of his desk and craning his neck to peer underneath.

“You think he’s... hiding under your desk?”

“Well, we have to exhaust all the possibilities, right?” He straightened himself. “That rat has got to be somewhere. I’ll get some people on it.” Angel made to leave but paused midway through the doorway to look back at her. “Oh, and Buffy? Nice to see you again.” 

Buffy waited until he was safely out of earshot. “Why does he always do that?”

“He has to have the last word; man’s gotta fill his cool quota somehow,” Gunn winked. “Guess he’s on board with solving the mystery, too.” 

Wesley gave a light chuckle, finally easing a little. “On that note, I’d like to consult the books, check if Spike’s situation has any correlations I might’ve missed to corroborate that this is a result of Shanshu.”

“Likewise. I mean,” Gunn bumped his shoulder gently against Wesley’s, who startled then settled into an easy smile, “not the book part, but,” he pulled out his phone and flipped it open, his finger poised to dial, “I have some calls to make- my own brand of investigation.”

“I’m not so much with the books and researching, but if there are any demons you need to beat info out of, you’ve got my number.”

“Don’t let any of Wolfram & Hart’s denizens hear you say that,” Wesley paused on his way out with Gunn already holding the phone to his ear. “Will you be alright on your own?” 

“Oh, sure, big evil law firm I’ve never been in before, don’t stay around on account of me.” 

Wesley either didn’t catch her note of sarcasm or didn’t care to acknowledge it, leaving Buffy alone in the large, empty office space. She bounced lightly on the balls of her feet and relaxed her shoulders, peering at the bloodstains on the carpet by her feet then outstretching her left hand, turning it gradually towards herself. His blood again, this time dried on her fingers, the rust-colour crusted around her nail beds all too familiar. Her hand clenched shut.

Past the glass walls, she could hear the ringing of phones, the hurried clip of heels across the hard floor, the mismatched jangling of cartwheels, a discordant blend of human and demon voices... She stood, extraneous and awkward in the center of this unfamiliar microcosm. After making her way behind Angel’s desk to his chair Buffy took her own curious glance underneath and nope, no Lindsey playing hide-and-seek under there. She flung herself down into the chair and felt it roll back a few inches before she threw her hands out to brace the motion with the desk’s edge. She settled herself back. Comfy, maybe a bit too big. She felt like Goldilocks, intruding on the bears’ secluded cottage and testing out all their chairs for size. Angel gone corporate. Huh. Not something she would’ve guessed, although private investigation wasn’t exactly on the top of the list either. The phone blinked insistently with unanswered messages. Angel’s irritability about directing focus on Spike may have been tinged with jealousy but the hustle and bustle of office life, especially in an evil law firm, might’ve been more pressing than she’d given him credit for, she thought to herself. 

She tapped her fingernails on the tabletop and fiddled absently with Angel’s fancy black pens. She’d have to remember to give Dawnie a call sometime, let her know she was okay, and that the meeting about the Las Cruces property had been successful. A meeting which, okay, hadn’t even taken place yet. A white mug with ‘#1 BOSS’ printed boldly in black, which had been, she assumed, filled with blood (even after eight-or-so years of having to reheat the stuff from time to time she still barely suppressed a shiver- ew) sat beside the phone, propped on a stack of files. A flake of dried blood migrated from her knuckle to land on a beige folder marked ‘Clients For Immediate Termination’. 

The blue of his eyes swam unavoidably to the forefront of her mind again. 

Spike, not dead. Human, in fact. 

Buffy stood up, pushed the chair back into position, and made her way out of the office.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally chapters 1&2 were one so I had to think of a new title for this one after they were split. Mosaic refers to a pattern/image created by pieces of stone, glass, or ceramic (popularly used as a wall or floor decoration-- I thought floor decoration suits what Spike’s current activities are so far in the fic). It was a popular form of art in Ancient Greece, which drew me to the term after remembering my use of the word ‘microcosm’, in reference to Angel’s office, which has roots in Greek (‘kósmos’ meaning ‘small world’). Also, there really is so much going on here, lots of characters and plot points to maneuver.   
> The property's location offered to Buffy for her and the Slayer Organisation was chosen due to its close proximity (google maps says ~2 hrs drive) to Los Angeles, as well as the name itself, Las Cruces being derived from Spanish meaning ‘the crosses’. Quite fitting.  
> ‘Highly in vogue’ Lorne’s hinting at Kylie Minogue, I realize it can also be misconstrued for Madonna, but hey, he can leave it a little ambiguous.


	3. Vanitas

“Harmony!”

Harmony had left her desk, her back turned to Buffy. She froze, raised her head dramatically, and released a preparatory breath as she spun towards Buffy, braid whipping out behind her.

“Hey, girl!”

“I need to know where they took Spike.”

“Wow, okay, straight to business, no ‘how’ve you been, Harm?’ or ‘hey, Harmony, it’s been three years, you’re looking great’- you and the big Boss _so_ need to take a chill pill. No wonder you guys didn’t last.”

“Not looking for relationship advice, thanks.”

Harmony sighed performatively and held her palms up. “Okay, fine, we need to put this out in the open, shoot the elephant in the room. What’s happening between us. You’re the Slayer, and I’m a reformed evil vampire supervillain. You’re Spike’s girlfriend and I’m his super-hot former. I’m going to put aside our differences, since I am the bigger blonde here,” she glanced at Buffy’s boobs, “in more ways than one.” Buffy rolled her eyes. “So. All that in mind, I'm going to take you on the ultra fun Harmony special tour of Wolfram & Hart, as a way of overcoming our differences, some quality blondie bonding!” She clasped her hands together enthusiastically.

“Not interested. Just give me the directions to wherever they took him.” She glanced at Harmony’s offended expression. “Please.”

Harmony rolled her eyes.

“Fine. Hey, I’ll even take you there. I’m doing you a big favour, just so you know, it _is_ my lunch break so I’m not even getting paid for this. I’m just, like, a super nice person.”

“It’s a lot like high school here,” Harmony began narrating as she walked down the hall. She turned around, noticing Buffy standing in place, arms folded, and beckoned her vigorously with the flutter of a well-manicured hand. “Ugh, come on, Slayer, I don’t have all day.”

“We really don’t have to talk,” Buffy said flatly. 

“Anyways, like I was saying, it’s a lot like high school here. I’m the popular girl, so it means I have to maintain a certain appearance. I also make it my duty to learn everyone’s names- being relational is a key part of my duties as a personal assistant. People see me as a direct representative of Angel, so it’s important that I keep his image intact, especially since, you know, he does practically less than nothing on that front, I mean, would it kill the man to see a stylist? Anyway, relational. Oh, this is helpful, if you think of a fun phrase their name is way easier to remember, like, hey, that’s Buffy the stuffy. Because you’re stuffy, get it? Hey Samantha!”

“It’s Sarah.” A woman with short dark hair turned briskly into a side room without sparing a backward glance.

“Whatever.” Harmony gave Buffy a look implying she was in on the joke and propped open the doors Sarah had just come through. “This is the breakroom- tables, chairs, fridge, oh, and the microwave where we, you know, microwave our blood. Pig’s blood, in case you were wondering, totally off the human stuff, it’s company policy. Angel’s made some changes since he’s been in charge.” She dropped her hand from the door and it swung shut. 

“Really, Harmony, I just want to get to the medical department or whatever.”

“Oh, and by the way, I’m not going to move in on your territory like you did with me and Spike,” Harmony steamrollered on like Buffy hadn’t spoken. “Angel’s a total weirdo and it only gets worse the longer you know him. Did you know that he-” she conspiratorially leaned in towards Buffy’s ear, who drew her head back a little (no way was she allowing Harmony anywhere near her neck, anti-biting company policy or no,) “He irons each pair of his clothing like five times, it’s so freaky. I’ve even seen him doing socks before.” 

Buffy couldn’t help but snort, the face of her old roomie Kathy flashing before her eyes. “Yep, that sounds about right.”

“Right! And he keeps three tins of extra hair product in one of the little cabinets in his office- he makes me keep them stocked.”

Buffy chuckled and Harmony flashed her a megawatt grin, clapping her hands. “See, we’re having so much fun already!” 

“Sure. But do you think we could maybe get onto the whole seeing Spike part of the tour?”

She clasped a hand to her chest. “Ohh, right, silly me, I think they took him to one of those icky testing rooms.”

“Testing rooms? You mean they’re studying him in a laboratory?” Buffy frowned, pressing her lips together in a grim line.

Harmony shrugged, “Well yeah, that’s what I said.” 

Buffy waited, staring. 

Harmony sighed. “I guess you’re wanting me to take you there?”

“Yeah, kinda.”

“Well, why didn’t you tell me sooner? The labs are like, upstairs. They’re probably cutting his brain open or something, he’s here to get that chip that makes him go ‘argh’ removed, right?”

“Something like that. We don’t really know what he’s ‘here for’, I guess.” She watched Harmony study her nails for a long moment. “Hey, you know what, I think I’ll just find my own way, I’m sure I can figure it out. Upstairs. Lab. Evil henchmen.”

Harmony gave a sigh of relief. “Oh, thank God... or, uh, Satan, I guess? Whatever. This has been such a drag- and I _totally_ don’t mean that in the offensive way. Please don’t slay me.”

“Not here for slaying Harmony. Thanks for the, uh, help.”

Unfortunately, ‘upstairs, lab, evil henchmen’ turned out to be a bit of an oversimplification. After wandering about the labyrinth of monotone hallways for longer than she’d be willing to admit, (and interrogating a few of the less-evil-looking stray lawyer-types,) Buffy found herself a spectacular view of a thickset door with a warning painted in big red letters- ‘Do Not Enter: Authorised Personnel Only’. She tried the metal handle, and, yep, definitely locked. 

“Can I... help you?” 

“Huh?” she whirled around, A man wearing a lab coat and clutching a clipboard thick with paper was glaring back at a not-so-inconspicuous Buffy. “Yes, actually, you look all science-guy. I’m looking for someone, bleached hair, black coat, of the sleeping variety. You’d remember if you’d seen him.”

“Only authorised personnel can enter through here,” he said drily. Gee. Very helpful.

“She’s with me.” A brunette woman in a trim navy suit sporting a cream scarf and an expensive watch sashayed towards Buffy, extending a possessive arm around her shoulder and flashing science-guy an impersonal smile. “You can leave now.”

The guy’s eyes widened behind his thick glasses and he backed off down the long corridor at a pace just shy of a run.

“Sorry about that,” the brunette said, turning the full force of the wolfish smile on Buffy.“Miss Summers, I presume? The labcoats aren’t exactly well-trained in the subtleties of human interaction, they can be a little twitchy. Definitely not the reception a valued guest such as yourself-” her hand, still on Buffy’s shoulder, squeezed lightly, “-deserves.”” 

“Uh-huh,”Buffy said slowly. “I didn’t quite catch your name-”

“Names later, I have it on good authority that you’re on the lookout for a certain bruised and battered bleach-blonde. Don’t worry, we’re taking excellent care of him.” 

Buffy side-eyed her, shrugging off her hand. “Somehow, I doubt that.”

Her smile grew, seemingly delighted at Buffy’s incredulance. “Doubt all you want, honey; he’s a very high-ranking asset to the higher-ups here. Regardless, at the rate he was going, with that fancy new functioning heart thumping away in his chest, if your good pal Lorne hadn’t thought to give us a ring all you’d have left to visit would be a fresh corpse, and not the kind that can walk around sinking fangs into the necks of pretty young ingenues, either.” Her eyes darted to the old scar on Buffy’s neck and she raised her eyebrows suggestively, eyes glittering. “Seems as though you owe us a big fat thank-you.” 

“The ‘us’ in that sentence is referring to who, exactly? You’re supposed to be, what, the company spokeswoman, here to sweet talk me right into forgetting that this place is evil?”

She tilted her head to the side, smirking. “Well, not strictly, but I do make a pretty great face for the brand, don’t you think?” She held the door open, gesturing for Buffy to enter. “Well, you coming with, or am I going to stand here for the rest of my unnatural lifespan?”

Buffy sighed and followed her, making her way down a series of lengthy, well-lit halls, all white walls and heavy doors with small square windows to peek through. Buffy tried to memorise the route for the first few corridors but the task quickly became impossible. The woman bypassed Buffy, eventually opening a second door for her to walk through. Curiouser and curiouser. She stepped in, the door swinging closed behind her. Medical equipment she half-recognised (and a lot she didn’t) crowded the room on small silver trolley-tables, all converging around one point- the bed where Spike lay resting, pale as ever. Buffy couldn’t stop herself from letting out a quiet gasp, the sight of him still seeming almost as unreal as it had that morning.

“Ooh, not looking so good, is he now,” the woman wandered to his bedside, quirking her eyebrows in a rather unconvincing parody of sympathy. She reached out and wound a dark-nailed finger around the tube of a hanging transfusion bag. “Still pretty damn human, though. Seems that our boy Angel doesn’t get to be a real boy after all. And we were all rooting for him. Must be just tearing him up inside, the poor lamb.” She sighed and shook her head, full of mirth. Buffy glared.

“Alright, alright, I can see where I’m unwanted, I’ll give you some alone time. You kids have fun.” She paused briefly by Buffy’s side, gauging her reaction. “It was a pleasure to finally meet you, honey. We’ll be in touch.” She winked, then walked out briskly through the doors again, heels echoing down the corridor. 

In the resulting silence, Buffy rubbed her hands over her forearms, almost afraid to speak.

“Hey,” she said eventually, voice echoing, high and strange, in the sterile room. She reached out to touch the pale skin of his cheek, then brought her hands together, dug her nails in, incising crescent divots. “God. It was way easier talking to you when you were trying to murder me, I feel like a total loser right now. You have a habit of making things topsy turvy, you know.” She laughed, short and brittle. Spike’s face had been cleaned and bandaged, his usual black t-shirt and tight jeans stripped and replaced with a hospital gown. She hoped they were keeping his duster safe somewhere. After a long second, she turned away from him and leaned against the side of his bed, finding the soft, almost imperceptible rise and fall of his chest too much to bear. Instead, she closed her eyes and listened. When he’d slept beside her before, in those fragile moments near the end when they’d finally learned how to be close to one another, he’d been so still. Even in the thin light of morning when she’d awoken to find his arms around her he’d make a conscious effort to cease his breathing, like if he moved ever so slightly, he’d scare her away. A soap-bubble bursting at the lightest touch. Now, alone in the lab, her own breathing fell in sync with his after a time, goosebumps prickling her bare arms in the cutting chill. A shiver ran down her spine and she drew her arms in. “You know,” she said conversationally after several minutes, “I think I get it now. The saving thing, what you were talking about that night I- Every night these past few months... I just- I just left you, I let you die down there.” No reply. “And hey,” Buffy shifted around again, Spike’s face remaining peacefully still; if he was hearing any of this he made no sign. “I guess we’ve both died and come back twice now. You always felt like the only person who understood any of it, anyway. Just another link between us, I guess.” She brushed the short, curling hairs by his temple, his skin warm to the touch, leaned in close, and pressed a soft kiss by his brow. “I hope you know that I-”

“You get what you wanted?” 

Buffy jumped, her head whipping round to see the brunette woman leaning casually against the doorframe. “How long have you been there?” she said, her cheeks flushing.

“You thought I left? Oh, that’s so cute.” She walked over, waiting encouragingly for Buffy to fill the silence again.

“He’s in a coma, isn’t he,” Buffy said bluntly, pulling away from him and turning to meet the woman's level grey-blue gaze.

“That’s about the long and short of it. Pity, too, he’s a handsome one,” she winked at Buffy again, “Wouldn’t mind meeting him in a dark alley late at night.” Buffy wrinkled her nose; the woman cocked her head, her smile growing, “The both of you must’ve made quite the duo.” She made a pantomime of slowly looking Buffy up and down before seeming to brush the thought away. “Anyway, back to business, Miss Summers- I’m afraid the big guns are telling me you’ve just about used up all your time in our little mock-hospital wing here.”

“Huh?” Buffy put her hands on her hips, eyebrows raised. If the woman was wearing an earpiece it must have been pretty tiny or she’d have spotted it.

”We’ve failed to gather any substantial data from your little heart to heart.” She gave a little shrug at Buffy’s affronted expression. “Tough break, I know, but hey, we’re evil. Give sleeping beauty over there a parting peck and hustle on out of here.” She paused, looking at Buffy expectantly.

Something about her expression and her phrasing was ringing in on her slayer senses as highly suspicious- she was pretty sure the kiss thing was another datapoint Miss Liaison here was trying to cash in on. On the other hand, what with the PTB’s sense of humor, there was a slim-but-not-nonexistent chance that a kiss on the lips might actually work... Not that she thought she was Spike’s soulmate or anything, she just- well, anything was worth a try, alright? She settled for giving Spike’s hand a hard squeeze and raising her eyebrows in challenge at the woman, resolving to ask Fred to look into it later. The woman snorted. 

“Suit yourself. I believe Miss Burkle’s working her cute little ass off in her lab, why don’t you run along and meet her there?”

Buffy spared Spike one last glance as she made her way to the door, committing- re-committing- his face to memory. 

“Hey, evil lawyer lady, you still haven’t told me your name.” When she got no response, she looked back at the doorway but the woman was gone.

Fred’s laboratory shone blue under the fluorescent lighting, assorted glass paraphernalia sparkling underneath. Sharp odors, not unlike the cleaning products that had stained and cracked the skin of Buffy’s hands back in her Doublemeat days, burned her nose- she wrinkled it reflexively. “How can you stand smelling this all day?” 

Fred looked up from where she was bent peering into a microscope, hair shoved into a sloppy updo and red glasses hanging desperately off the tip of her nose. 

“Oh! Hey, Buffy!” she grinned, waving her over. “Not much to report on the whole Spike becoming human situation, I’m afraid. I’ve only been able to conclude the obvious, which is that Spike’s, well, I’m gonna go with ‘essence’, was somehow trapped into this big old gem here. Well, essence isn’t really the right word for it, but it wasn’t just his soul, either, because it retained his corporeal form including any and all accumulated environmental modifications such as scars and the peroxide job, but somehow I guess not his demonic manifestation, although it’s entirely likely that that was removed some other way, some process the amulet was put through, or even perhaps burned away in the recorporealisation. You said- smell?” She breathed in the air, then giggled as she exhaled. “You mean all those chemicals mixing about in here? Oh, don’t you just love it, it’s so comforting, a smorgasbord of various chemicals if you will! You wouldn’t mind hopping over and washing your hands in that basin over there, would you? Lab protocols and all, I’m not meaning to be suggestin’ anything rude about your personal hygiene.”

“Good idea. I’ve still got Spike-blood all over me, that’s gotta create some kind of hazard.” 

“Spike-blood?” Fred grabbed her wrist and, quick as a flash, was gently scraping some of the blood into a clear petri dish with a teeny metal spatula. She met Buffy’s wide eyes after a second. “Sorry, I probably shoulda asked, it’s just that I haven’t been able to get a very big sample of that yet and I thought-” She let go of Buffy’s wrist and blushed. “Uh, you, you go wash your hands.”

After scrubbing her hands as clean as she could get them (hey, slaying was a messy job, alright? Spending every night in a graveyard for close to a decade was unfortunately not super compatible with having clean nail beds,) she made her way back over, holding her arms tight against her body, mindful of the high piles of breakable glass equipment. A plain-looking man in a lab coat who Buffy hadn’t noticed before stepped out from behind Fred. 

“So this is the famous Buffy, huh,” he said, a smug and easy smile on his face, “Standing right here in the middle of our lab. If I’d have known we were having a celebrity over I’d have cleaned up the place a little. The name’s Knox.” He flashed the ID card pinned to the pocket of his lab coat, a mugshot of that same smile beside his name.

Buffy’s eyes darted down to look at the badge before flicking back up to scrutinise his face. “I’m sorry but have we met somewhere before?”

“No, I don’t think so, wait- no, unless you happened to catch any of my lectures at the California Science Institute.” He winked at Buffy.

“Not really my kinda scene.”

Fred sighed. “Knox, can you get those fancy slides? I think I left them in Angel’s office. I’d ask someone else, but-”

“Say no more,” he tapped his nose, “Those slides will be on your desk faster than you can say ‘dehydroabietic acid’.” He gave her an informal little salute as he left.

Fred shrugged apologetically at Buffy.

“What’s up with that guy?”

“He’s just a little morally ambiguous, I guess. We still have a lot of employee holdovers from the whole evil-law-firm-representin’-the-worst-of-humanity gig, since hiring new staff is kind of a lot of work. He’s ready to work for the forces of good, which counts for somethin’, which is more than I can say for some of the staff Angel has axed or... _axed_.”

“And you trust him?”

“About as much as I trust Wolfram & Hart, so, not in the slightest. But,” she shrugged, “His doctorate holds up even if his thesis was dry, and he can disinfect the beakers without breaking them too often. He shows up on time and I pretend not to notice any of his attempts at flirting with me. We get by.”

The doors to the lab clattered open, Gunn entering with an armful of binders and booklets, Wesley in tow. 

“Thought I’d find you two here; just bumped into that Knox guy, something was off about him? Can’t place my finger on it, though.” He handed the pile of documents to Wesley, washed his hands, and took the pile back with a smile of thanks. They both joined the girls at the microscope and in one swift move, leaning against a table, Gunn pulled a pen from his pocket and clicked it ready to write. “Got the Las Cruces documentation finalized and ready to go, all I need now is your signature and it’s all done and dusted- just the way you like ‘em.” Behind him, Buffy watched Wesley’s mouth twitch at the vamp pun. “And don’t worry, I had my people thoroughly comb it over for any nasty clauses of the soul-selling variety. You almost certainly won’t become unbreakably contracted -body and soul- to the demon WxrtHltl-jwlpklz for the next century.”

“Oh- thanks? Didn’t know that was something I’d need to be concerned about.” Buffy eyed the pile of documents Gunn held with an air of suspicion, half expecting them to self-destruct at any moment now that the jig was up.

Wesley spoke up. “There have been contracts made with Wolfram & Hart of that nature; it’s important we keep an eye on the fine print, some signatures, regrettably, cannot be erased.” 

“Hey, wouldn’t be the first time my soul has been up for grabs, and with the deal I’m getting, kinda seems like a fair price.” 

“While we’re on the subject of fine print,” Wesley continued- Buffy glanced briefly at him as she signed her name- “I’m afraid I didn’t come across any evidence to suggest that Spike’s humanity is a direct result of-”

Angel burst into the lab, “Couldn’t find him. Lindsey’s up to something, I can feel it.”

“He could’ve just walked in here,” Fred muttered under her breath to Buffy, “But no, always with the dramatic entrances.” Buffy grinned.

“Have you considered that he’s just reporting to the guys on top? They do own his ass.” Gunn said, pocketing the pen and shuffling the newly-signed paperwork until it looked uniform.

Wesley cleared his throat. “So I take it none of us have any solid data on Spike’s... situation.”

“Actually,” Buffy paused, “I went to visit him while you were all out and about. Did you know that they’re running some kind of shady tests on him? I thought you guys were supposed to be in charge of this place.”

“Should’ve expected that, been their guinea pig in fact.” Gunn tapped his temple, at the same time as Wes saying, “We don’t actually have a lot of power here, I mean we’ve tried to cut down the blatant evil but it’s a large company with a lot of subsidiaries.” 

“Anyways, some tall brunette woman- who was kind of rude, honestly- took me to see him.” Buffy steadied herself with a deep breath. “He’s... comatose.” 

“I’m so sorry, Buffy,” Fred put a hand on Buffy’s arm for a moment., “We know how you feel... If it helps, even in the slightest, the coma is just the body's way of tryin’ to heal itself, Spike’s doing his best to recover.”

“To be entirely honest, I’m still having a hard time registering the fact that he’s alive.”

“I’m sorry, but- rude brunette woman?” Wesley stepped towards Buffy, “What was she wearing? She didn’t happen to mention her name, did she?”

“I think she was trying to make with the mysterious, so I didn’t quite manage--”

The abrupt ringing of a mobile phone interrupted them all. 

“Oh!” Angel began patting his pockets down, searching, “That’d be me.” He finally found his phone after a long moment, shrugging with an awkward ‘heh’ at everyone’s looks of exasperation. He thumbed the answer button. “Angel here… Yes, Harmony, I know, I’m not that old- well, I am, but that's hardly the point- Oh, uh, yeah, she’s right here… You have Dawn on the line?” Angel cast Buffy a look. “Send it to my office, she’ll pick it up there.” He brought his phone close to his face, searched for the hang-up button and ended the call. 

Buffy winced. “Shoot, I totally lost track of how long I’ve been here. I probably should’ve called her a while back; does anyone have the time?”

Gunn pulled his sleeve back, checking his wristwatch for the time, “Ten past one.”

“I guess I’ve gotta head back after I check in with Dawnie, I have a return ticket for this evening all paid for and everything. I wasn’t really expecting any of- this. But you all know that.” She laughed awkwardly.

“Look, Buff, if you need more time here- with Spike, I mean,” Angel’s voice became quiet, understanding; he looked at her with that familiar intensity. “We can always reimburse you for travel, we have that kind of money now. We even have jet planes- you want to get flown back in a helicopter?”

“Nah, you’ve all done so much for me already, and everyone’s expecting me back anyways.” She gave a slight smile. “But, Angel?”

“Buffy.”

“If Spike happens to wake up, or, if-”

“You’ll be the first to know. I promise.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Vanitas: popular symbolic theme in Dutch Still Art movement, evoking the transience of life and certainty of death. Symbols commonly utilized in vanitas art would represent life and death, and pleasure and wealth. Popular were images of jewellery, skulls, fruit, flowers, clocks, scientific equipment, bread, books, bubbles, tipped plates/glasses, mirrors, candles, swords, etc. This term probably comes into play for more than just this chapter, but it’s especially poignant when it comes to facing a now human Spike, whose life has begun in stasis. There are also items within the chapter that follow the popularly depicted items in Vanitas paintings. Spike’s amulet as jewellery, Gunn’s watch as a clock, Fred’s microscope as scientific equipment, Wesley and Gunn’s books, we have Buffy afraid of knocking over glass as well as the mention of Knox not breaking so many beakers, swords as Angel’s habit of axing employees, and ‘soap-bubble bursting at the lightest touch’. 
> 
> I think that the mystery woman is pretty obviously Lilah but I’ll say so here just in case, it’s just so much more fun with her around to bully/flirt with everyone.
> 
> ‘Dehydroabietic acid’ is a term I found on an image pertaining to the chemistry of mummification, it’s apparently a part of the embalming process, I used it for obvious and upsetting reasons.


	4. Palimpsest

Two months had gone by in a blur. The move from a crummy Council-funded hotel to the long-abandoned college building the Wolfram & Hart lawyers had managed to dig up and begin renovating in the Las Cruces area of Santa Barbera was much-needed but labour-intensive nonetheless. Buffy’s days were a storm of packing, transporting, unpacking and setting up, not to mention all the intensive cleaning or the boatload of brand new clueless baby slayers arriving sporadically throughout the move, who’d been haphazardly marshalled into being helpful some of the time, but otherwise… not so much. After what felt like the most frenzied few weeks of her life, the Las Cruces property, finally, began to feel like a place she could call home- a not-unwelcome change to that untethered feeling that came with the fact that her previous home of seven years had been unexpectedly converted into a brand-new Sunnyhole and most of her possessions were buried under several yards of rubble. Xander had had his work cut out for him too, there’d been a slew of construction workers perpetually in and out for the majority of the move. Buffy and Willow agreed privately that the constant activity was a blessing, though his ex-fiance’s recent death still seemed to make him quieter and more solemn than they were used to. Heavy machinery dotted about the land, noise blaring incessantly from sunrise to sunset with the construction of a variety of new slayer-safe surrounding buildings and demolition of older decaying structures. Then when those demonic pieces of machinery had finally left, track-marks heavy in the dirt and wood chips, metal shavings and patches of leaky oil polluting the plant life and dotting the bare floors not unlike those ectoplasmic traces of less-than-hygienic demon-beasties she’d had to clean up after, (she’d have to message Dawn and ask if tar demons were a thing), sleeping bags were laid out and exhaustion fell mercifully over them all. At the end of the sixth week of solid work, the workers finally packed up and the scoobies were able to start thinking about furniture and decoration. Lorne had called her up to ask whether she would be needing an interior decorator to help her fix everything up or she planned to do it herself and Buffy- a Buffy who, at sixteen, would have loved nothing more than to be able to play ‘Home Makeover’ on a massive scale with a somewhat unlimited budget- found herself exhaustedly passing the phone over to Giles and just telling him to get ‘whatever wouldn’t break’. She didn’t care what color the carpeting was, as long as it would be dark enough to hide most of the inevitable dirt and bloodstains.

Then, when the chaos had subsided, she found she could no longer tuck Spike away into the corner of her mind. She hadn’t told the others that he was alive, except Giles. Things had been... rough, between the two of them; their relationship forever changed from what it had been a few years ago in a way that made her heart ache a little, but since he’d been keeping in contact with W&H on her behalf, it seemed only right to let him know. She eventually planned to break the news to the rest of the gang, but playing with Dawn’s emotions like that (Andrew’s, too, she supposed- the melodrama could wait,) without knowing what the outcome of Spike’s condition would even be when they’d all been working so hard towards a stable lifestyle or the next best thing to it, seemed foolish. Then there was Xander, Willow and Faith to add into the mix. With all the painful complications between them and her relationship with Spike, she was so not ready for another intervention. Only Giles could guess this trip into L.A. was not strictly business-related, besides, it wasn’t exactly far away- only a few hours by bus- and if she were needed back in a hurry, she could always take up Angel’s offer of a free helicopter ride, she told herself.

So here she was on her way to L.A. again in a less than comfortable bus ride, her butt sore and legs half-asleep. Buffy pressed her forehead against the cool window by her seat, the vibrations of the road jostling her gently, the hollow sound reverberating through her body. LA’s lofty skyscrapers loomed overhead, crowding the busy streets packed with people; she wondered how many were less human than they appeared. The bus began to creep along as it pulled into the terminal, only about a block away from Wolfram & Hart. A block too close right about now, she couldn’t help thinking. Angel hadn’t contacted her personally since the day she’d left, which meant either Spike’s condition hadn’t changed, or Angel hadn’t kept his promise (which wasn’t entirely unlikely). In any case, she needed to visit Spike again, make sure it wasn’t just some fantasy her overworked mind had dreamed up. All too often, the moment he had materialised in front of her replayed in her mind; the bewildered tilt of the head, the twitch of his mouth, the narrowing of his eyes. The sound of him saying her name again, something she’d never dared to hope she’d hear again.

The bus halted, gradually settling down, and Buffy stretched to slide her phone (on her person thanks to some insistent nagging from Dawn,) out of her pants pocket. Unlike last time she had resolved not to arrive completely unannounced, better to call ahead late than never. Buffy waited until she'd left the bus and began walking towards W&H before dialling Angel's mobile number. There was no way she was going to book an appointment to visit Spike through Harmony. The dial tone rang for a while with no answer- clearly, Angel either couldn’t find his phone, had left it behind somewhere (if Buffy had a dollar for every time she’d dropped her cellphone into demon-guts she wouldn’t need to be financially reliant on an evil law firm), or had forgotten how to use it entirely- centuries-old dog, new tricks, so to speak. Oh well, she had tried at least. As she pocketed it again, a flower vendor on the footpath just ahead of her caught her eye. Buffy slowed her pace, an array of bouquets and single flowers catching her eye; all kinds of bright colours and pretty combinations, ribbons bunching the stems all curled and patterned. But squished in a pot of water between a mix of single flowers, it was the simple white daisy that drew her attention. Something she could leave behind, if Spike hadn't woken up. With the daisy paid for, change loose in her pocket, she continued towards W&H.

Deja with the view, the doors chimed open and she entered the ground floor- it was mostly the same, maybe a little quieter, barring the insistent ring of the phone at Harmony's abandoned desk. Buffy made her way towards Angel's brightly-lit office, peering inside the seemingly empty space. She tried for Angel once more. A faint ringing echoed from the other side of the clear and frosted glass checkered walls of his office. Buffy groaned, moving away from the window, "Of course."

"Hey there, Sugar Buffs!" A bright cheery voice hailed her from behind. She spun around as Lorne came to a halt, standing beaming at her in a deep purple suit. "Nice to see you again, girly, didn't expect a visit so soon! If you're looking for Mr. Frowny and the others, I think they’re out and about. I can give Angel a call, let him know you're here?"

"Oh, that's alright I was just letting them know I was in, besides, I think he left his phone in the office." She raised a brow as Lorne gave a cursory look inside.

Lorne rolled his eyes. "Sounds like our boy. Talk about needing to get with the times- it took the IT guy a week and a half to teach him how to answer his emails.” She laughed briefly and he continued, “I’m getting the impression he’s not exactly the undead boytoy you’re here to see, though- Spike?"

"That was the plan." Buffy shrugged, "No one gave me any updates so I assume he's still..."

"Sleeping beauty? 'Fraid so, sweetheart, sorry we didn't drop you a line sooner. Angelface isn't so great in the updating department, especially not when it concerns bad news, or, I guess it’s lack-of-news in this particular case. Hope you haven’t been twisting yourself into knots about it. Here," he jerked a red-nailed finger towards the science department, "I'll take you to see him. They've changed his address since you were here last, he has a cosy little office-turned-hospital room all to himself, with a window too so the poor boy can catch some much needed sunlight. Fredikins made it her mission to keep him nearby and well taken care of." 

Buffy followed Lorne up the staircase as he spoke, trailing her free hand over the railing, “You’re making him sound like a potted plant,” she told him, twirling the daisy loosely in her fingers, “Or a parakeet.”

Lorne chuckled, casting a look over one shoulder, “Speaking of, you look pretty as a daisy in that lovely little white halter. This place is in desperate need of some flair, truly a sight for sore eyes, your dozy darling doesn’t know what he’s missing out on.”

She flushed, suddenly self-conscious about bringing a gift. “So, uh, what do you do around here? Last time you mentioned you can read people's futures?”

“That’s a part of the job, weeds out the undesirables,” he made a dismissive motion, “More accurately, I’m the Head of the Entertainment Division. They really know how to keep a demon busy; if you think hitting the high notes is a tough gig just wait till you’re managing a whole parade of demanding, one-paycheck-away-from-becoming-fully-evil clients, demons and humans alike.” They turned down a hallway, maneuvering past curious onlookers. 

Buffy laughed. “I don’t know much about singing- managing, though, I get. Teenage girls get levelled up into these super-buff powerpuff babes overnight and I’m expected to be all with the Yoda and show them the way... I’m like the world's busiest, youngest, least qualified Watcher. I’m not even English.”

“Ouch, sounds like you’ve got your work cut out for you, cutie!” Lorne stopped by a plain office door, standing to its side, “And we arrive at our destination,” he bowed, one hand on his abdomen, the other twirling in playful showmanship.

Buffy dipped a mock curtsy in turn. “Why thank you kindly.” She laughed, “Beats having Harmony forcibly escort me round the breakroom- or wandering around helplessly, which I totally didn’t do the last time I was here.”

He grinned, taking her hand and spinning her around under his arm.

“Just let me know if you need anything,” he told her, casually spinning a business card out of thin air, “Unlike Angelcakes, I promise I’m only a phone call away, and I always pick up on the first ring.”

Buffy took the card gratefully. “Definitely an upgrade to getting put on hold by a certain blonde-and-perky fanged receptionist, not that I’ve spent a long time doing that, or planned to, anyways.”

“I’ll leave you two in each other’s company but I’ll drop by later if I can. For now, I’ve got some business that needs taking care of, ” Lorne waved Buffy goodbye, singing a tune as he left, a beat to his step, “ _It's all takin' and no givin'- they just use your mind, and they never give you credit, it's enough to drive you crazy if you let it!_ ”

With a faint click, Buffy gently pressed the door closed as she entered Spike’s room. A warmth blanketed her, suffusing her with a gentle calm and quiet- Lorne had been telling the truth, this was a step up to the cold sterility of the previous room. She clasped the daisy by its stem, its fresh scent a note in the room's aroma of clean linen sheets and settled dust. Plain grey walls blocked her in, but the swathe of blue sky and chaos of the LA skyline opened the space up, natural light streaming bright and catching the metal of the window frame. To her left was a simple bed and a simple chair beside it. She wondered if he'd had any non-study related visitors, Fred seemed to care about his recovery, Angel though… she couldn’t imagine him in here, and the others, well everyone seemed so busy. Buffy took the seat by Spike's bed, placing the daisy neatly on the side-table by his head. On the opposite side was his life support, cutting the stillness with a familiar persistent hum. She rubbed her sweaty palms against her jeans.

He looked... softer, somehow. The curve of his cheekbone not as sharp, his curls now spilling over his forehead in disarray, an inch of pretty light gold-brown roots grown out above the platinum-blonde. Even though she’d seen under his dye job before, just after his re-ensoulment, it still made her feel oddly intrusive to see his real hair color, almost like she’d walked in on him naked. A faint new scar curved across his forehead from where he must have fallen on the amulet, and his skin had more of a blush to it; despite the coma, he looked more alive than she'd ever known him. Because he was alive, she corrected herself sharply. If only he'd been given the chance to use it. His arms lay flat atop the sheets and she took his hand gently between her own, delicately tracing the blue veins along his wrist before holding his hand between hers, his cool fingers warming to the touch. She closed her eyes, a few unexpected tears slipping out. 

Suddenly, she felt a spasm against her palm and her eyes flew open. His face stayed as impassive as ever. Her lip quivered and she mentally admonished herself for projecting her hopes onto his comatose form. Pressing her eyes shut again, she had just started getting used to the strange quiet of the room when- there it was again, she was certain she’d felt his fingers twitch. Her stomach lurched, and she instinctively gripped his hand tighter. When she opened her eyes, Spike's gaze was fixed intently on her. 

"You're crying."

Buffy felt a violent rush of relief and laughed, tears rolling down her cheeks. "I guess I am. It's all your fault, idiot, you always get me so worked up." She sniffed, tears spattering against the pristine bedsheets. It almost felt too much to look at him, his eyes as vivid and blue as she remembered thinking they were the very first night they’d met, when she was seventeen. Her heart squeezed painfully. “God, Spike,” she choked out.

"...Spike?" He furrowed his brow, blinking slowly against the light, “If you are wishing for a weapon of some sort I’m afraid I’m quite adverse to carrying objects so crude, although be assured that you need not fear having to defend yourself from ME, as I could never dream of harming such an angel.” Buffy’s eyes grew wider as he talked and he trailed off awkwardly. "I'm sorry, Miss, but have I had the pleasure of making your acquaintance?"

Buffy withdrew her hands. Suddenly, the world had been yanked out from under her feet like an old parlour trick- cloth, table and all, and her stomach dropped accordingly. His accent had shifted, had become formal and delicate. She could find no hint of recognition in his eyes, which were warm and tired and questioning. "...William?" she said slowly, dread settling in her heart.

A slow smile came across his face, a glint of his one pointy tooth showing. "Ah, so we have. I’m terribly sorry, but I cannot seem to recollect..." He sat up, the blanket falling down to his waist, and blearily took account of the room, squinting against the light. As he adjusted, his fists slowly bunched the sheets, knuckles whitening. "I appear to have misplaced many of my garments, as well, I… Where- Where am I?" Horror crept across his open expression. "I- Cecily, I read her my, my poem... Mother." He blanched. "How many days have I been- Is she unwell? Is she sick with concern? Her health cannot allow for any worries, if I am not back shortly she’ll be dreadfully worried."

"William." And that was his name, but every inch of her needed to say Spike, for him to answer to Spike, for him to grip her hand and look at her with that cool familiar confidence again. She laid a hand lightly on his tensed arm and he turned his full attention to her, stilled, a deer in headlights. Buffy tried to keep her gaze level and calm, reassuring, petting him gently over the bedsheet. "Everything's okay, William. It’s going to be alright." Except it wasn't, the voice in the back of her mind whispered. It wasn’t at all. “Do you mind telling me- What year is it?”

He tilted his head slightly, eyes closed for a moment; when he opened them again, he replied with gravitas, “The year is 1880.” 

Oh. Oh no.

"What's the last thing you remember, William?" (Burning. Please say burning.)

He looked down, shook his head, "The party." The set of his jaw- he wasn’t Spike, but that she’d seen, she’d known from him, she wouldn’t probe further but she had so many questions. Who was he? Who was _she,_ to him now? Everything she’d expected from him had been torn away from her in the space of a minute. He always kept her on her toes, but now she’d truly been sent into an upside-down land. All too clearly, what Spike had assured her that night in that basement hit her full force, his grim cadence ringing in her ears- ‘You have never met the real me.’

“Are _you_ okay, Miss...?” 

Buffy snapped out of it, realising she’d been staring at him; when she looked into his eyes, he averted his gaze. She forced herself to speak, though her throat was tight, “I’m not sure... about being okay,” she quickly amended, laughing shakily, “not the name. I’m Buffy. Buffy Anne Summers.” 

His arm relaxed under her touch, a faint smile passing by his face while he kept his eyes fixed towards his lap. “Summers? But of course a girl so warm and golden could only have a name to match,” he murmured. “Pleased to meet you, Miss Summers,” he told her, flickering his gaze over to her for a moment. “Your name, your manner of dress, the way in which you speak, it is all rather-” he was cut off by a brisk knocking at the door, breaking them both out of their reverie.

“Hey Buffy, it’s Angel,” they heard from the corridor. “I, uh, got your missed call, is it okay if I come in?” Damn him.

“No! I mean, Angel, can you just wait out there a second, I’ll be right out.” Buffy broke contact with William, her hand clammy and hot.

“Buffies and Angels, what a strange place this must be,” William said, sounding dazed. 

She leaned in with her most stable ‘everything’s okay’ voice, “Just stay there, I’ll be right back, I promise.”

“Would you be so kind as to send for my mother? Anne Pratt. Let her know I’m in good health, please? Miss Summers?”

Buffy’s hand shook on the rail of the bed. She gave him all she could- a sad smile and curt nod.

She slid out of the door and closed it behind her, throwing her full weight against it. Angel stood still nearby, coated in viscera.

“Hi, Buff,” he said cluelessly, offering her an awkward smile, “Came as soon as I could.”

“You couldn’t have at least changed clothes?” she said, reaching out to hook a strand of something blue and slimy off his ear.

“Well, I just figured that- wait,” Angel came in closer, awkwardly stooping down to Buffy’s level, “Why exactly are we whispering?”

Buffy rubbed the back of her neck, looking away.

“This is sorta difficult to explain. Spike- well, not Spike, William, he woke up.”

Angel’s eyes went wide.

“He has? Now?” He lowered his voice again after Buffy threw him a terse look, “What do you mean, ‘not Spike’? Is he... possessed? We have guys for that here.”

“I think- I think he has amnesia, it must have been the coma or maybe he hit his head a little too hard on the amulet, or, or, what if becoming human just completely wiped the slate clean and the demon part of him has all of Spike’s memories? Fred said that his demonic form could have burned away when he came back, no... but that can’t be the case, he said my name when he first-”

“Hey, hey, slow down, amnesia. Like, he doesn’t remember who he is?” 

“He thinks it’s 1880.”

Angel took hold of Buffy’s arms, “You said- William.”

“Who he was before, before he was turned.”

“Yeah, I know that one better than most.. Turned- by Drusilla.” His mouth turned down uncomfortably. “I was there. I mean, not during, but when he first bumped into us a few minutes before that... He wouldn’t remember me would he?” 

“He said the last thing he remembers was some party.”

“I didn’t meet him at a party… That must’ve been where he was before he came crashing into us. From what little I saw he was very... emotional.” Angel winced. “Darla- we were joking about Dru picking some simple sap off the street and we noticed him sobbing.”

“Sounds like Spike.” Buffy felt a pang in her chest. “Angel, he keeps asking for his mother, what am I supposed to tell him? I don’t know a thing about her. She’s dead of old age if he didn’t- Your mother’s dead, in fact, she’s been dead for over a century, and you really did… did kill her.” 

Angel’s mouth thinned and he cleared his throat.

“I did live through the 19th century- maybe if I see him, I could help him adjust to modern times,” he suggested, reaching for the door handle.

“Woah,” Buffy pushed Angel back, “He had enough of a shock from being exposed to the bare skin of my forearms, you are absolutely not letting him see you looking like you’ve been in a massacre!”

“It’s not that bad, I’ll just,” he shrugged off his coat, folding it neatly and placing it by the door, then picking a few of the stringier pieces of what Buffy assumed were demon entrails out of his hair, “He won’t even notice.” 

A loud thud from inside William’s room shook the floor. Buffy flung the door open to find William sat by the window; he looked up at her, eyes wide and visibly shaken. 

“Are you an angel? Am I in heaven?” 

She hadn’t even considered the view from the window, strange buildings, people dotting the streets, and the broad expanse of blue sky and the sparse white clouds. 

“Dammit,” she mumbled. “This is hard to explain,” she approached him slowly, watching as he drew himself further against the wall. She eventually crouched by his side while maintaining a level of distance between them. “You’re very much with the alive, we’re still on earth. And, see,” Buffy wafted a hand over her head, “No halo, not an angel.”

“Before, you spoke of an angel.” 

“Oh, I did, but see, my friend here,” she held her palm up in Angel’s direction, who was standing by the door, “Angel is his name.”

“Definitely not an angel either, for the record,” Angel added, holding his hand up in greeting. Help William adjust, yeah right.

“William, what you saw out of that window- we’re just in a regular old room in a really tall building. Like… like how the clouds seem closer if you’re on top of a hill.” Buffy stood up, smiled gently and held her hand out for him to take, if he wanted it. He hesitated a while and she’d almost dropped the hand again, but he reached out and held onto her, and she pulled him up with ease. 

“See, not heaven, not even close. Trust me, I would know.” 

William hazarded another glance out the window, swaying slightly. Buffy caught him to hold him steady, the fabric of the hospital gown thin between her hands and his skin. Alarmed, he looked at her, face flushing red hot, only then seemingly taking her in fully. The halter top, the material falling softly over her, exposed arms and belly, the low rise jeans- not exactly your typical 19th-century woman’s wardrobe. They pulled away from each other simultaneously, William bracing himself with the wall, turning his face away. Buffy looked to Angel to intervene, who had been watching, emotions unreadable. As soon as he began to approach them, footsteps rounded to a stop in the doorway. 

“Saw the door a-swingin’ open thought I’d pop by, see how you two were holding-” Lorne dropped his half-closed phone to the carpet, it landed with a clatter as its battery popped out. “He’s awake! Ain’t this a bit of good news!” 

Angel and Buffy glanced at each other, wide-eyed, then turned from Lorne to William, whose eyes rolled back and then fluttered shut, knees buckling from beneath him. Just before he hit the ground Buffy rushed forward, catching him in a tight hug. She slid carefully to the floor, angling all his weight on top of her, his head resting safely in the crook of her shoulder. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Palimpsest is a manuscript page from either a scroll or book, where the text has been scraped/washed off so that it can be reused. 
> 
> Daisies can symbolise innocence, new beginnings, transformation, purity, true love, and the sun.
> 
> Lorne is singing Dolly Parton’s ‘9 to 5’ as he leaves Buffy.


	5. Impressionism

Lorne, Angel and Buffy gathered outside William’s room after Buffy had carried him back to his bed. Buffy had been the last out of the room, lingering for a long moment by his side, staring down at him and thinking about the weight of him in her arms, body much too familiar. She’d seen Angel’s aborted gesture to help her carry him- even after all this time he still sometimes forgot the extent of her strength- as well as feeling the heat of his uneasy gaze as she laid William back down. As she walked out of the room she’d had to cram the lid back on those emotions again, out of sight but not out of mind. 

“Hey, I know I won’t be crowned beauty queen any day soon but that was a bit of an overreaction, don’t you think? It’s like the boy had never seen a demon in his  _ life _ .” 

“Bingo,” Buffy said grimly, “aside from Angel, I guess, but he has all his demon-ness neatly hidden away.” She looked Lorne square in the eyes, “He doesn’t remember being a vampire, being- being Spike.”

“Aha!’ Lorne clicked his fingers. “I knew something didn’t feel right, his aura’s way off tune, operating on a whole different frequency than the Spike that first appeared on our doorstep.” 

“Way, way.” Buffy emphasised.

“Sorry, sugarplum, that bites,” Lorne said, reaching out to touch her shoulder. 

She smiled wryly at him before glancing at the closed door behind her. “He’s all… sweet, scared, gentlemanly,  _ Victorian _ . His gestures, even his voice is altered. This can’t be who he was, right? I mean, he’s so,” she searched for the right words, “he’s so... different.”

“Sweet? You’re right, he’s nothing like Spike.” Angel laughed shortly before catching Buffy’s warning glare.

“You never knew him with the soul, Angel.” 

“Hey, I was just agreeing with you.” He folded his arms, a defensive edge in his voice.

“No, you weren’t! You of all vampires should understand the difference a soul makes.” 

Lorne stepped between them, hands poised pacifyingly, “I think you two kittens need to cool off, if looks could burn you’d both be starting to crisp up about now. Listen, I’m going to give the docs a ring, I’m wagering he’ll need some seeing to after my indecorous self had him fainting like a damsel in distress,” he nodded to Buffy, “nice catch, by the way.”

Buffy shrugged, feigning nonchalance, “Slayer instincts.” 

When she’d caught him, held him steady that first time, sure, it had been instinctive, but maybe not of the slayer variety. That second time she thought she wouldn’t make it, movements feeling slow, like running in a nightmare, rushing forwards yet barely moving. It seemed to her that if he hit the ground he’d shatter into a million tiny pieces of porcelain, delicate as a teacup. Un-put-back-together-able. Her heart clenched when his head fell safely against her shoulder, tear-stained lashes pressed shut, emotion drained from his features. Somehow, seeing him unconscious again had brought Spike closer. “Maybe it was a good thing you came when you did,” she said quietly, mostly to herself.

“Good? I think I almost scared the poor man to death.” Lorne shuddered.

“I mean, we can’t hide the existence of demons from him forever- he’s on floor three of a demon law firm, for god’s sake, he’s bound to find out sooner or later, besides, this could all be temporary; I mean- there are spells, magic-”

“Well, true, there are magics that deal with memory loss,” Lorne began slowly, “we have used a magic spell for amnesia before, but...”

“Last time,” Angel made a morbid hmph, voice full of cynicism, “didn’t go so well. I seem to recall the spell reverting us back to our teen years, not to mention Cordelia-”

“Listen, I don’t think we should jump straight to the magics anyhow. We might make things better, sure, but we could also make them a heck of a lot worse.” Lorne gave Buffy a serious look, then shrugged. “Besides, who knows? He could wake up from this slumber peachy-fresh at any minute, memories and all.”

“But if he doesn’t,” Buffy said, her brows knotted, “we should have a game plan. We need to do something.” She looked back to Lorne, “You could, uh, read his future?”

“Sure, if he can be cajoled to open up that pretty beak and sing for me, that is. First impressions aren’t everything but that was a hell of a first impression, minus the impress. And, Buffs, you’ll have to keep in mind, what I learn isn’t necessarily going to be good news, or much news for that matter. It’s vague at the best of times- an art, not a science. And even if the tea leaves aren’t forecasting an insta-fix, don’t think of it as something set in stone; you can let the stream carry you, but anything can be changed.”

“But it’s something, it’s a start.” Buffy arched her brow- she didn’t have a resolve-face like Willow but she figured she came pretty close.

Lorne sighed. “I’ll see what I can do, sweetie.”

Angel and Buffy watched him leave, standing together in silence for a moment. When it became too much to bear, as it always did when it came between her and Angel, Buffy broke it. “Where’s my aspect of the demon when I need it?”

“Hm?” Angel stirred out of his thoughts. “Oh, the mind-reading. Look, Buffy, I’m sorry, it’s... a lot.”

“And, what, you don’t think it’s ‘a lot’ for me?” 

That came out way too cold. Why did Angel always make it so hard for her to show how much she really cared about Spike? Buffy self-consciously rubbed a finger under her eye, inspecting the crummy smudged mascara trails she came away with. Her face felt distinctly gross, she was probably wet, and all blotchy and red and, god, she  _ so _ needed a mirror right about now. 

“That’s not what I meant.” Another bout of awkward silence ensued, Angel staring down at his hands, fiddling. “I’m just…” he sighed. For a creature that didn't need to breathe, he sure did seem to sigh a lot, Buffy thought. Probably his way of prolonging telling what was on his mind for as long as possible; she didn’t think she could name anyone who was less of an open book. “It’s just- Why should Spike get a second chance at a happy life and not…” 

“You.” 

“No, no, not me… Cordy.” Angel looked at her properly now, defenses down. 

“Oh.” She’d missed something.

“Maybe a little bit me, too. I like to think that I gave up on that one, but I guess...” The walls were back up, those brown eyes all distant and dark again. He finally broke eye contact with Buffy, bending down to retrieve his folded coat. “Fred’s back, if you want to fill her in on the details. She’s the one who’s been, well, taking care of him.” Buffy winced as he continued, “she’s in the break room, I can take you there if-”

“No, I know the way. Harmony’s tour wasn’t a complete waste of my time, it seems.” She gave a bitter laugh. If Angel was trying to get rid of her, the last thing she needed was an uncomfortable side by side walk with him. She made to leave before Angel’s voice pulled her back.

“Buff, you’re doing the right thing. With, with Spi- uh, William. Showing him the world we live in, I mean. I made the mistake of not telling Cordelia, I lost her trust when I tried to hide who I was, who she was, what we were doing at the Hyperion. I thought it would be too much for her to handle, but she needed the truth. Although, I guess now that I think about it, she was actually an evil rogue higher being at the time, so her going to Conn- her leaving wasn’t actually her.” He shook his head. “The point still stands.”

“For someone not making a whole lot of sense, you’re making a whole lot of sense,” Buffy said. They finally smiled at each other, still with the awkward, but treading common ground for the first time in a long time. 

When Buffy entered the breakroom she noticed Fred sitting by herself, eating enthusiastically, a couple empty trays and boxes scattered across the table. Her glasses had been tucked into the front of her pink cotton shirt, braided hair falling over her shoulders as she bent forward. 

“Hey, Fred!”

Fred startled, recovering with a cheerful smile, all full cheeks and red lips. “Oh my god, Buffy, hi! It’s so great to see you again, I’m glad Spike’s finally awake- oh, but I guess less so what with the amnesia and all, but no need to start frettin’ yet, I’m sure we’ll find a way to get his memories back, if we could for Cordelia... and anyway, we’re way better equipped now than we were last year when all of that went down-”

“Ah, so you heard about that already,” Buffy sat neatly in the chair opposite Fred.

“I was fixin’ to finish my lunch before hurrying on over to Spike, you know how it is working on an empty stomach.” 

“Boy do I, when we first began recruiting the potentials it seemed we never had any food left in the house, I couldn’t remember what a full stomach felt like. Have you ever lived with a horde of super-strength adolescent girls? I wouldn’t recommend it. All our periods synced.”

“Oh!” Fred, eyes wide with excitement focused her gaze on Buffy. “I’ve been meanin’ to ask about that, we don’t have a whole lot of data regarding the, y’know, influx of new slayers, I don’t suppose you could fill me in on it, I’m dying to know. My current hypotheses run just short of the probable, although I suppose predictability and sense-making ain’t exactly the kinda business we’re in.”

Buffy shifted in her chair, pulling it closer to the table, tracing back last year's events to find a simple explanation. “Well, involves a busload of potentials, a Scythe- fancy Slayer Scythe, in fact- and a powerful witch, who, oh, I totally forgot, says ‘hi’! Well, she said more than that but—“

“She’s a yammerer, we have that in common. It’s a pity the circumstances of her last visit were so,” Fred scrunched her nose, “grim. Calling her in to re-ensoul Angel had been my last resort, everything was so messed up at the time...” Fred tucked an errant strand of hair behind her ear. “Even despite the danger, I gotta say, watchin’ her work was just amazing that night. If it weren’t for her we’d never have gotten Angel back; she really is a powerhouse, isn’t she?”

“You don’t know the half of it. When you saw her she was still all recovery-girl. The spell she used to activate all the potentials into slayers… She changed the world.”

“I’m supposin’ the Slayer Scythe you mentioned was the conductor between the spell and the activation of potentials, it must be a pretty impressive piece of weaponry, I’d love to get my hands on it someday- not for fighting, of course, to take a look at it in the lab.” She looked off dreamily. “Well, maybe I would have time to take it for a bit of a spin, there’s only so long I can stay cooped up in corporate hell, if you catch my drift.”

“I know exactly what you mean,” Buffy said drily, thinking that there was only so much she could take in her slayer-handling day job before she had to slip away for a little stress relief hunting, bag a demon or two. “And you’d be supposing correctly about it being the conductor thingy for the spell. It has some sort of connection with the slayer line, so we took advantage of that link- You know, we do still have the Scythe somewhere, I could totally let you have a look at it, Giles wouldn’t be so happy handing it over to an infamously evil law firm of course but hey, why not? I’m pretty sure I saw Xander using it to prop up a loose shelving unit.”

“Only if it’s not too much of a hassle, I mean, I don’t want to get you in a spot of trouble with your people on account of my curiosity.”

Buffy gave a quick shrug. “Not at all, in fact, I’m sure if I explain that it’s in good hands and it meant learning more about it, about slayers, he’d come around. Once a watcher, always a watcher… That was funnier in my head.” 

To her surprise, Fred laughed. “I think that just about sums up good ol’ Wes, actually. He might’ve swapped the blazer for a leather jacket but he still gets the same look on his face when we get a new shipment of artifacts. Were you plannin’ on sticking around for Spike a while? I’m only asking since having a slayer onboard would make for studying the Scythe a whole lot easier.”

“Oh…” Buffy peered out of the window a moment, “I hadn’t thought about that. Um, William-” she looked back at Fred, who was forking the last of her chicken into her mouth and had slipped her glasses back on, “-that’s who he remembers himself as, who he was before he became a vampire-” she clarified, “It wouldn’t feel right to up and leave him now. I mean, I don’t know if this is, uh, per- permanent or not, but either way, I’m probably the only one who knows him- aside from Angel, I guess.” She laughed uncomfortably. “But you know him, if I charged him with sitter duty he’d probably freak, and this whole thing’s been kind of rough on him too- I’m still not entirely sure what this whole Shanshu deal is, but seeing Spike like that…”

“Y’know, Wolfram & Hart could sign you up as a special consultant, we could provide a place to stay and an income, send people for the Scythe- and your things, of course, clothes, toothbrush, all that.”

“Hey, that’s not such a bad idea. ‘Special consultant’,” Buffy tilted her head, thinking on the title. She grinned. “I like it. Wait, this won’t involve much... paperwork, right?”

“Oh yes, lots of paperwork-“ Fred registered the askance look on Buffy’s face, “-ah, on our end, of course,” she quickly amended, flashing an awkward smile. “You can just stand there all pretty holdin’ the Scythe while I take my readings, ask you some questions, maybe ask for a few demonstrations- I wonder if we can get some vamps in to test it out on, the ethics there are a little shaky but we didn’t even HAVE an HR department ‘til this year- but it’s all very low-effort, you’d do great, I promise.” 

Buffy nodded slowly, considering the idea properly now. William’s tentative smile surfaced in her mind. William, stuck in this weird building in this unfamiliar city, afraid of the view from his window. But then she thought about Dawn, the Scoobies, the new slayers- how long could they manage without her? Now that she thought about it, they had actually finished most of the big picture work to the property, now it was just the smaller scale details… And their training, she supposed Faith could handle it; she’d done so the last time, when they’d kicked Buffy out. Bitterness crept in at that memory, the sting of betrayal still fresh after only a handful of months... but they’d moved on from that (she hoped), and Faith was as stable as she’d ever been. She could also use a break from them all, and the opportunity for a closer look into the Scythe and into the nature of slayer-ness was certainly appealing. And if she ever needed to get back in a hurry, there was that tempting offer of a helicopter ride (she irritably brushed away the memory of Riley and Sam hitching a ride on one as they’d left Sunnydale, looking all secret agent-y and wholesome couple-y). She startled out of her thoughts to meet Fred’s wide-eyed gaze.

“I think I... might just take you up on that offer, Fred- meet your newest Special Consultant.” Buffy smiled at her, holding out her hand like they’d never met before.

Fred broke into a wide grin and shook her hand with joking formality, before giving Buffy a brief excited hug.

“Oh, this is so exciting, all we have to do now is sign you up on the system! That'll be easy enough, I can drop by Harmony’s desk and put a request through on my way to William.”

“H-Harmony?” Buffy sputtered. “Oh god, she’s probably going to sign me on as some kind of test subject, or- or into some kind of demon marital contract, to get back at me for taking Spi- spines, spines from her, because she’s a vampire.”

Fred smiled conspiratorially at her. “It’s alright, Buffy, you can say Spike. We all kinda guessed you two were an item.” 

“That... wasn’t my best cover-up, was it?”

“It really wasn’t,” she said, screwing up her nose again in the way that seemed very Fred-like now that Buffy had gotten to know her a little better. “Harmony isn’t all that bad once you’ve known her for a while… Hey, Buffy? This is probably going to sound real silly but, you’re the first, well, girl-friend I’ve gotten the chance to talk to; I know we don’t know each other too well but I’ve been facing a kind of… personal dilemma, and didn’t want to bring it up with one of the guys. They’re lovely and all, but…”

Buffy hummed in agreement. “I know exactly what you mean. No offence to Angel but he can sometimes be a bit out-of-touch, 

“-And I can’t speak for the others,” Buffy continued, “But sometimes you just need a little girl-on-girl action.” Her eyes widened at the accidental innuendo but as soon as she opened her mouth to correct herself, Fred barrelled on, cheeks slightly pink.

“That’s kinda what I was heading towards, girl on girl action, I mean! Not that there was a whole lot of action; I went to this bar with Harmony the other night-“

“Oh?” An unanticipated image of Fred and Harmony making with the smoochies in some dark barroom crossed Buffy’s mind. She tried not to judge- it’s not like she had a leg to stand on when it came to taste in partners- but Harmony? Harmony??

“Oh no,” Fred waved her hands, protesting, “not Harmony like that, she dipped on our girls’ night for some guy she said claimed to be an astronaut and who ended up dead as a doornail on account of Harmony’s co-worker attemptin’ to frame her.” Buffy’s eyebrows went up and Fred rolled her eyes. “Never a dull moment at an evil law firm. Anyhow, I thought I might as well finish my drink seein’ as I was already there and it was one of those fancy highfalutin places where the drinks prices are triple what they are at the dive near my house, so I was sitting there all on my lonesome and a really pretty woman sat across from me after Harmony had left me high and dry- she must’ve assumed Harmony and I had been chatting each other up or something. So we got to talking and before I knew it I’d been there an hour past midnight and we were,” she raised her eyebrows, giving Buffy an intense look, and then added just in case, “Making out, tongues and everything.”

Buffy smiled encouragingly, considering what she’d said for a moment.

“That’s where the dilemma comes in, I hadn’t thought- everyone’s had fantasies every now and again, right?”

“Well, I’m no expert or anything,” Buffy replied slowly, frowning for a second. “Actually, come to think of it, I might just know exactly how you feel.” 

Nothing like sitting in your ex’s legal firm in an empty break room with a woman you barely knew, cracking open your innermost baggage. Something about Fred put her at ease, though, so she continued, “After that last apocalypse… When Spike died, Faith and I, we decided to catch up- had a few drinks, learned we had more in common than we used to- her last relationship had ended pretty abruptly too, life of a slayer I suppose. I guess we both got big with the lonely, and I’m not sure what it means for me, but we kissed.” The image flashed in her mind- Faith’s dark hair, settling in loose curls around her collarbone, her hand on Buffy’s arm, the way her lips had opened slightly, the same shade of lipstick Buffy remembered thinking about so much when they’d both been eighteen, the pleasure of being able to just give in to an impulse she’d had- Buffy looked quickly up from her hands to Fred. “Oh, Willow!”

“You kissed Willow too?”

“No! I mean,” Buffy winced at the intensity of her dismissal, “Willow, gay. Lesbian, in fact! She’s the expert, you should totally talk to her about this! I think you mentioned having her number.” She blushed furiously, fidgeting with the phone in her pocket, hoping for a ring to declare the conversation over, a welcome distraction. 

Buffy watched as something clicked in Fred’s brain. “So that was what she meant when she said she was seein’ someone.” She smiled to herself.

“I should call Dawnie- uh, my sister. Tell her I’m staying for a while.” Buffy already had her phone out, pleased to be given the excuse to use it. 

“Sure! I’ll just leave you to it if you don’t mind me headin’ out? I should probably check in on William’s progress, he’s not totally my field but I’m more than a little curious.” Fred stood up, clearing the table.

Buffy nodded and smiled, “Good idea, get all with the science and paperwork.” She left the table as Fred did, moving to lean against the window, her shoulder warming as she pressed her weight against it. She waved goodbye to Fred, listening to the dial tone.

She began as soon as Dawn picked up. “Hey-“ 

“Wh- uh- B’ffy?”

“Are you eating right now?” She waited, hearing muffled noises on the other end.

“Well  _ yeah _ , Willow made some chocolate chip cookies and they’re like  _ really _ good, I’m trying to eat as many as I can before anyone else does. I got dibs, y’know, since I’m Willow’s fave and anyway she felt bad for me burning my mouth on the one I tried to eat straight out of the oven- Ow!” Buffy heard another muffled noise from the other end. “Totally uncalled for- That was Xander, he’s just jealous since he’s in second place.”

“Uh-huh,” Buffy said, the corners of her mouth twitching. “Listen, I’m going to be staying in L.A. for a while, I’m not sure how long exactly, but-“

“Oh! Can I come with?! I miss L.A, we haven’t been there since dad stopped taking us to the Ice Capades like a zillion years ago!”

“I need you to stay with the Slayers, since I can’t be there, I need you to cover for me.”

“That’s so like you, dump all your work on me, since my life must be soooo empty and I must have absolutely nothing to do-”

“If you don’t want-”

“No! No, I can do it, I’m totally cut out for it, it was about time I got promoted. Does this mean I get a bigger allowance? Do I get a Watchers’ salary?? It’d look really good on my CV, and there’s this coat that I’ve been really-”

“We can discuss that later; there’s going to be these Lawyer types picking up the Slayer Scythe sometime tonight, can you pack a suitcase of clothes for me? I really don’t need Wolfram & Hart employees poking through my underwear drawer. They probably already have my bra size logged somewhere, these guys have, like, a scary amount of data on me.”

“Buffy.” Dawn’s voice suddenly held a note of suspicion and she started up again slowly, “You haven’t told me why you’re all of a sudden taking a chill vacay in L.A.- you’re not secretly boinking Angel again, are you?”

Buffy inhaled sharply. “Of course not. I’m just helping them with some Slayer research, it’s why I need the Scythe.”

“There’s something you’re not telling me. You’re not exactly the best liar, you know, I could beat you at card games when I was five- even  _ Andrew’s _ better than you.”

“Dawn.” 

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll pack your stuff up, but you owe me big time. Anything specific?”

“Not really. That jacket I like, maybe, and the pants without the hole in the knee- You know what, I’ll text you a list. Thank you,” she said, genuinely. “Oh! And before I forget, can you tell Will to give me a ring later? No rush, but I need to ask her something.” If anyone had any kind of expertise when it came to the Slayer Scythe… and memory spells, it would be Willow. She wondered if she could find a way to ask Willow about the William situation without going into enough detail for her to work out what was going on.

“Let me guess, this is another secret that you can’t tell me for some reason?” Before Buffy could reply, Dawn continued, “Whatever, yeah, I’ll let her know. But if you’re getting back together with Angel again, I hope you know I’m totally disowning you as my sister. I can’t deal with that level of hair product in my life again.”

“I love you too, Dawnie. Talk to you later.” Buffy could practically hear Dawn’s eye-roll, quickly hanging up before she had to withstand any more interrogation. 

Just before she could start composing a list of clothes for Dawn to pack, a text came through from Angel. 

‘B- William’s awake and asking for you. Lorne is ready to read him.’ 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Impressionism is a 19th-century art movement, emphasising light and movement using small brush strokes, and usually performed plein air, capturing ordinary subject matter. Artists moved away from focusing on realism for a more fleeting impression of their surroundings. It was also about moving away from the more rigid rules of art and embracing modernity. 
> 
> Although William is absent this chapter and first impressions were made in the previous, this chapter is a bit of an in-between chapter, setting future events up through ordinary activities (lots of talking, standing and sitting. Obviously, impressionism as a 19th-century movement connects with William, as well as the theme of shifting towards modernity. It also connects to Lorne’s readings, and mentions Fred’s first impression of Willow.


	6. Metronome

Buffy hurried up the staircase, colliding with someone at the top. He threw his hands out to steady her as she began to topple backwards, her own hand flying to the railing. 

“Woah, you good, Buffy? Sorry about that.” Gunn stepped aside so that she could enter the upper floor. “I’m pretty sure I’d be facing a fair few angry phone calls if I was the reason the slayer broke her neck.”

“You’d probably get a few hundred gift baskets, too,” Buffy said ruefully. “It’s all good, though, I’m peachy.” She rubbed her sweaty palms against her thighs. “I think my slayer instincts might be getting a little rusty, though. A staircase isn’t exactly the way I imagined my majestic final defeat.” 

“Oh, I wouldn’t put it beyond this place to have an ancient, cursed staircase sitting out in their lobby, I had to get six different curse-breaker-dudes to scope out my office and remove all the weird carvings on the floor before I had any furniture moved in. Speaking of, congrats on the new gig, and as a Special Consultant?” Gunn whistled, breaking out into a big smile, “Now that's a fancy title.”

“Thanks! Boy, news sure does travel fast in this place. I hope you guys don’t all have to have some sort of psychic messaging system wired into your brains or eyes implanted onto the back of your heads once you get a job here or something? Because I really don’t think I could rock that look.”

Pulling out the phone from his pocket, Gunn made a few shifty glances to the side and pretended to dial, turning away from Buffy. “Cancel on the Slayer’s Skilosh demon, I repeat, cancel on the Skilosh demon.”

“Yikes, I have no idea what a skilosh demon is, but ew.” She couldn’t help but smile, watching as he slid his phone back into his pocket and winked at her. 

“Nasty pieces of work, those guys, ran into them a few years back- they impregnate human hosts with their freaky little demon spawn, takes the form of an eye on the back of your head.” He tapped the back of his head twice for emphasis.

She laughed. “Guess I should be watching my occipital lobe.”

“Nah, I jest, your lobes are safe. Bumped into Fred in the lab not too long ago, she gave me the 411 on your promotion. Speaking of, she told me to tell you that she’ll be round after she checks in on William’s biochem results.”

“Oh, cool.” 

Gunn looked Buffy directly in the eyes “Hey, B, I’m sure it’ll be all good in no time, our Fred’s the smartest person I know and I’d trust her with my life- I have, many times. With the rest of us on your side, your boy will be back in no time, bleaching his curls and getting on Angel’s last nerve.” 

“Thank you, I’ll keep that in mind.” She gave him a wobbly smile, trying to feel heartened by the confidence in his voice, and he touched her shoulder.

“I’ve gotta catch up on a case, talk to you later, Slayer.” 

Buffy entered William’s room once again with Lorne on her heels; he’d evidently been waiting by the door, hopefully not for too long (she felt a familiar stab of guilt- he always seemed to have such a packed schedule). Items of Spike’s clothing had been strewn across the room, boots upturned with their laces undone, t-shirt crumpled by the wall, and the duster half fallen off the hospital bed, close to slipping onto the carpet. She paused before she got to the bed. Lorne bumped lightly into her back, caught off-guard by her sudden halt. “Suddenly not feeling all too peachy-keen on this idea, Buffs- I think I’ll just leave you two-”

Buffy shushed him. “William?” 

William had put the faded black jeans on under his white hospital gown, billowing awkwardly far past the waistband, ugly and abrupt. He was gazing intently out of the window, eyes fixed on the busy streets below. The sky was beginning to dim as sunset hurried onwards, sun melting down to meet the LA skyline. Though his face was still and guarded, the evening light shone through the loose curls around his face like a burning halo, messy and wild.

As he turned at the sound of his name he kept his eyes downcast, avoiding looking directly at Buffy as if he was afraid the sight of her might hurt his eyes. His voice was steady and quiet as he greeted her. “Miss Summers,” he inclined his head slightly. “Apologies for my unseemly attire, I’m afraid I must have misplaced my personal effects. My spectacles too, which I feel quite lost without… In fact,” he pinched the fabric of the jeans, “all that was provided when I made inquiries as to my garb were the foreign stranger’s apparel you see on me now, I attempted to don them and found it a rather confusing experience- not one piece fits. And they’re all rather… odd in their construction.” 

As he stood awkwardly before her, Buffy’s eyes fell to his right hand, delicately holding the brown stem of the daisy she’d left for Spike, its petals spindly and worn. 

“Sorry, they, uh, must’ve been the only clothes they had, I’m sure-'' she looked to Lorne for a brief moment before returning to William, “I’m sure we can organise some replacements. Spectacles? You- you need _glasses_?” Had Spike needed glasses? 

“Ah- yes, I’m afraid, I know they’re unsightly but reading proves quite difficult without them.” 

“I’m sure you look sweet in them,” Buffy said softly, “Do you know your, um, prescription? Is that what they had back then? Nonetheless, I’m sure we can have you bespectacled in no time, right, Lorne? We can do that?”

“I can see it now: an 80s style makeover montage.” Lorne waved his hand in the air, looking wistfully off into the distance, “Cute new ‘do, designer horn-rims, fresh and stylish wardrobe, the whole shebang.” 

“1980s this time, right? You don’t mean-”

“Nineteen-” William’s voice broke out in alarm. “Is that why, is that why- I can’t have been spirited a century past my time, surely? Nothing here is familiar- My mother.” His wide eyes gleamed with unshed tears but his voice had become level, all emotion from his face drained, “She’d be long gone, and all of it my own fault, had I not… Is it punishment?”

“2004. It’s 2004, actually. Welcome to the twenty-first century.” Buffy admonished herself mentally but kept going, “And no, William, this is definitely not punishment. I know it’s a shock, I didn’t mean for you to find out this way. You haven’t done anything wrong, it’s all just a big, unexpected, terrible accident. No, not terrible, you were... Frozen. In time.” Not the worst lie, in fact, in it rang a note of truth. “We think… Someone must have cast a spell on you. Because, uh, witches- they exist. Like demons, like my friend Lorne here, you met him last time, well, not exactly ‘met’, but he does a kind of magic, and we think it can help you. Not that you’re in trouble or anything, but-”

“I’ll take it from here, Miss Blurty the Vampire Slayer.” Lorne gave Buffy’s shoulder a gentle squeeze, and she cast an apologetic look at him before he walked past her to introduce himself properly to William. “Despite the haphazard introduction, she hit a few of the important notes- I am a demon, and not exactly an inconspicuous one at that.” he flourished his hand near his horns for emphasis, “But I’m harmless, mostly. Krevlornswath to my family, but since you seem remarkably uninterested in hurling verbal abuse at me, I’ll count you as a friend and you can call me Lorne.” 

William seemed to consider something for a moment, then, gathering himself up, took a careful step forwards. He still looked rather pale. “Mr. Lorne-”

“Don’t bother with the honorifics, hun, Lorne is just fine.”

“Of- Of course. Lorne. May I- Could I trouble you- If it isn’t imprudent of me to ask of you, well, may I touch your, your horns?”

Lorne raised his brows and his face broke into a winning smile. “Go ahead, I’m not stopping you!” He bent his neck down slightly as William approached. Hesitantly, he went to rub his finger across the tip of Lorne’s horn. 

“Blunt,” he mumbled, a look of wonder on his face.

“When I was a teenager it was fashionable to sharpen them into points- all my sisters did it- but I was a bit of a scaredy-cat and couldn’t talk myself into it,” Lorne told him, shrugging. William carefully stroked down the slim ridges that banded the length of each horn, touching curiously at the slight scales around the emergence area. Buffy pressed her lips together, trying her best not to stare but really not succeeding.

Lorne was struggling to keep a straight face too, his lips curling ever so slightly at the corners. “Careful, sugar, you keep that up and I might have to take my jacket off!” 

Buffy snorted against her hand and blushed hard, and William, slightly puzzled and clearly lost in thought, withdrew his hand and took a step back. 

“Whew,” Lorne said, straightening up and stroking his hair back. “I’ve got to admit, cupcake, you’re taking all this a lot better than we thought you would. Hell, you’re taking it better than I would be, if the situation was reversed!”

“I had... always hoped the world was a more fantastical place than meets the eye,” William told them, in a soft conspiratorial undertone. “It is, as you say, difficult to process, but my previous life was not exactly-” He coughed uncomfortably. “If this is a dream or an enchantment, I am content to stay under its spell a while longer.”

Buffy squeezed his hand for a moment, saying nothing.

“Now that we’ve all gotten to know each other a little better,” Lorne said, breaking the tension, “I think it’s time we took a little peek into your future. Don’t worry your pretty face like that, all you need to do is sing me a song.”

“A song?”

“Anything you like, sugarplum.”

“Maybe you’d like to sit down?” Buffy suggested, and gestured towards the bed. William smiled briefly and nodded, and she gathered up the duster, folding it and placing it on the bedside table where the daisy had been.

He sat neatly on the bed, knees and thighs pressed together, hands lying folded on his lap, his back held straight. He closed his eyes lightly shut before a smile of contentment passed briefly over his features. Voice wavering, he began, “ _Early one morning, Just as the sun was rising, I heard a young maiden sing, In the valley below._ ” His voice filled the room, the melody rising and falling, but his eyes quickly fluttered back open and as he pulled out of his brief reverie, his voice cracked. “ _Oh don’t deceive me, Oh, never leave me, How could you use A poor maiden so?_ ” 

When the song ended, he had become so quiet that the words barely passed his lips. Buffy stared at him, eyes wide.

“Woah, talk about blast from the past,” Lorne said, a little breathless.

“What, what did you see?” Buffy turned to him insistently. He rubbed the crease in his brow with his forefinger, sighing and sliding his hands into his coat pockets. 

“First thing’s first, sweet William, your voice, well let’s just say it’s nice to read someone not completely tone-deaf, apologies to our dear Angel.” He winked at William, who returned a shy smile. “Now, back to the business at hand. It’s not bad news, but it’s not exactly good news either. Your boy’s stuck, in some kind of... ‘purgatory’-space, I suppose, and with the kind of interior decorating I just got an eyeful of, it’d be enough to drive a poor soul mad. Quaint but out-dated, we’re talking as Victorian as it comes. Except- now here’s the funny thing, one detail stuck out as an anachronism- the door blocking his way out, the very same door as the one to this room.”

“So, you’re saying he’s trapped?”

“That’s about the gist of it, honey.”

“Well, that makes things simple, right? We just have to open the door-”

“Nuh-uh, not quite, the door he needs open isn’t of the physical variety.”

“P-pardon me, but I’m not exactly catching your meaning...” William fidgeted with his hands, looking between Lorne and Buffy.

“It’s, well, complicated, and a little metaphysical. My read is that it just means that it’s tough, the adjustment. But, hey, we’re all here, you know, to help. That’s what I do. You’ll be out of your metaphorical retro-room in no time.” 

After Lorne had left, Buffy sat by William on the bed, very aware of how close their thighs were to touching. Her hair fell like a curtain between them, and, fumbling a little, William tucked it behind her ear. 

“Rapunzel.” William blushed as if the word had slipped out of his mouth by accident. He cleared his throat, “Your hair, it reminds me of- of the fairytale Rapunzel. Are you familiar with it? Do fantastical stories still hold a place in this strange age?”

“Yeah, they’re still going pretty strong, I know the story- well, I think I do, anyway.” She looped a loose strand around her finger, inspecting it. “It used to be way longer. My hair, I mean.”

William’s eyes caught, mesmerized, on the movement of her fingers for a few long seconds before he caught himself and looked back down at his hands.

“When I was a kid, my mom used to read me and my little sis- Dawn- all these bedtime stories, Rapunzel was one of our favourites. I wanted to grow my hair as long as hers- well, so did Dawn, but see, I had the advantage because me: blonde, her: brunette. She was so jealous of me- begged and begged mom to let her bleach it.” She laughed softly under her breath. “I even tried keeping up the whole ‘hundred brushstrokes a night’ deal, although it didn't last longer than a week, my arm got pretty tired. Mom put up with all of it, somehow.” She smiled, closing her eyes for a second. “But then, I got my calling. I, um… When I was fifteen I was chosen by the powers that be to fight against the forces of evil. I’m what's called the Slayer. Well, I used to be ‘The Slayer’. Now I’m just ‘a Slayer’, I guess.”

“Like a knight?”

She smiled. “Kinda- maybe not so much with the armour, I couldn’t exactly blend in with the Sunnydale nightlife and besides vampires have hearing like you wouldn’t believe and I’m not big on giving them a nice little clank-y warning that I’m headed their way, but yeah, I’ve wielded a few swords now and then. Anyway, after I started getting ambushed twice a day it seemed only practical to cut my hair, so I convinced myself it was majorly out of fashion and childish and besides it used to get caught in doors and in my lipgloss and so on. Long story short, Rapunzel-type hair, nice in theory, big with the impractical in reality.”

He had a curious smile on his face. “You talk so strangely.”

“I do, do I?” Buffy looked back at him warmly. 

A low buzz and the sound of her ringtone broke through the quiet of the room. William froze as she shot up off the bed. “That would be my phone,” she told him, fishing it out of her back pocket and dangling it briefly for William to see as it kept on ringing. “It’s a- well, a device we use to communicate with other people-” 

“I see mister Graham Bell’s experiments were rather a success,” William said in a dazed tone.

“-Can you hold on just one moment, I’ll be right back after I answer this?”

“O-of course, I’ll be here.”

Buffy slipped out of the room to answer the call, leaving the door slightly ajar and leaning against the doorframe. She took one quick backwards peek into the room before she held her phone up to her ear and Willow began.

“Buffy! Sorry about taking my sweet time, I got caught up in some not-so-fun teen drama- were we as melodramatic in high school because, uh, yeesh?” 

Buffy couldn’t help but laugh, whatever was going on over there she felt glad- if somewhat guilty- not to be a part of it, “Worse, probably.” 

“It’s always a new crisis around here; Andrew said the other day that we probably have enough teen melodrama to fill out a smash-hit trashy reality TV show, albeit one with higher stakes. Get it? ‘Stakes?’” Buffy snorted as Willow continued. “Anyhow, Buff, Dawnie told me you were staying in L.A. for a while... You’re not thinking about jumping Angel’s bones again, are you? Hey, just because your previous squeeze got a little crispy around the edges, that’s no reason to hop on the nearest non-human fang-train to bone-town!” Buffy could just imagine Willow’s goofy tongue-in-teeth smile on the other end.

“Oh my god, Will, ‘bone-town?’ No wonder you’re single. And anyway, why does everyone keep thinking Angel and I- No, I’m getting sidetracked. Listen, if I tell you something, would you promise not to mention it to the others?”

“Of course! You can trust me, I’ll keep it on the down low, all hush hush.”

“Are you alone right now?”

“Hold on just a second-” Some footsteps, the groan and click of a closing door and the squeak of a bed, and Willow’s voice returned. “The coast is clear, nothing but me, my ears, and my ultra-zipped lips.”

“Okay, first promise me you won’t freak.”

“Freaking off the table. It was never on the table. It hasn’t even entered the house. Now get past the theatrics and tell me already, ya big doof!”

Buffy eyed the inside of the hospital room once more, closing the door quietly to reduce the chances William could overhear their conversation. “So you know how I went to L.A. a couple months ago?” 

Willow answered with a sound that implied ‘yes, but also, get on with it’. 

“Remember that amulet I gave- that I gave to Spike, the one he…” 

“Destroyed Sunnydale with?” 

“Well, he didn’t _personally_ destroy- Yes, that’s the one.” Buffy continued after a moment, “I got this mysterious package delivered to Angel’s office but with my name slapped across the front, and when I opened it, voilà! Poof and kablam, out comes the amulet, and- and not just that, but Spike, he kind of just appeared out of it, the amulet, all with the voilà too. The dust and sparkles all kinda sucked themselves together and then there he was, falling onto the carpet.”

There was a long pause.

“Woah, that’s... big, Buffy.” Willow’s voice was a little breathless, tinged with an unmistakable note of reservation and confusion. Unable to let the silence stretch out between them, Buffy pressed onwards. 

“And that’s not all- he’s alive, Will. And not just as in ‘he’s not a pile of dust’. He’s... human. Heart thumping and everything.”

Another moment passed, and she heard a shifting sound. If any time was the time for Willow’s inner curiosity-girl to come out, it was now, Buffy thought.

“And you’ve been sitting on this huge enormous secret for _months_?? How come you didn’t tell any of us before? I’m not criticizing ya, it just seems like something you could have clued us up on.” 

Buffy sighed, rubbing her neck.

“I’m sorry for not telling you all sooner, I really am, but that’s still not all of it... He’s been comatose the past couple months, I didn’t want to- to bother you guys when we were all so busy with the move and the new girls and all.” She squeezed her eyes tight, the half-truth slipping out much easier than the real reason- that just for a while, just for a few months, she’d needed this to herself, that the reality of him had felt too raw and strange, too new and too old all at once. She took a deep breath. “-But he’s awake now, and, well…”

“This is more than big, this is major- so major it’s- it’s Ursa Major, it’s modern Major-General, it’s Major-Major-Major-Major.”

“What’s that last one?”

“Catch-22, I think you were asleep in Lit when we went over that one,” Willow said distractedly. “I’m just having a tough time wrapping my Willow-sized head around it. I mean- a vampire becoming human, that’s…”

“Big?” 

“Big.” Willow agreed. She took a deep breath before continuing. “Are you- Buffy, are you doing okay?”

“Well, you’ve covered the big part... But yeah, I think so.” 

“You didn’t have to carry it alone, but I- I get why ya did. And, uh, I know we Scoobs haven’t exactly always been in your corner in matters of the tall-blonde-and-Spike-y in the past, I’m... gonna try to work on that one.” Willow’s voice sounded soft for a moment before she perked back up. “So, give me the details, you planning to get with the smoochies with him now that he’s back?” 

“No- no smoochies, no jumping of bones.” Buffy cleared her throat. “Anyways, there’s more. When he woke up, he sort of lost all memory of being Spike, all he’s got is William Pratt, who he was before he was sired. Which is, as it turns out, this really starched, Victorian, poetry-loving, mother-doting, romantic-type gentleman- ‘always been bad’, my ass.”

“So now he’s all cutie patootie?” Willow’s voice was thick with teasing, ribbing Buffy for a little gossip, side effect of living in close quarters with teens all day, she supposed.

“Will.” Buffy warned, unable to keep a grin off her face.

“Come on, Buffster, I’m a lonely little queer in the middle of nowheresville, California, I’ve gotta live vicariously through your twisting love life.”

“... Alright, yeah, maybe he’s a total cutie. That doesn’t mean anything is happening, or ever going to happen, okay? I’m just being purely analytical here.” She realised she’d been twirling a strand of hair absentmindedly so she switched her phone to the opposite hand.

“Well, if anything does happen, just saying, no one’s going to get all judgy on you... Okay, well maybe Xander, but I- I can go all pursed lips and fist shakin’ till he comes round. Like-” Willow deepened her voice, “-look here Mister, it’s not like you’re some love expert, and Buffy’s a grown adult woman with serious needs and-”

“Thanks, but that won’t be necessary, seriously,” Buffy’s laugh petered off into a sigh. “I do need your help with something, though.”

“Oh! I can do that! Fire away! I’m your gal!”

“Well… I was wondering if you could take a quick detour up here and maybe see about doing a spell, jog his memory or something?”

“Oh… Buffy I- I’m not sure about that, last time I did a memory spell it went all kaflooey and- and-”

“Hey, it’s okay, Will. Forget it, it was just a suggestion. I don’t want you to do anything you’re not comfortable with.”

Willow’s voice rose. “No, I wanna help you, I really do. It’s just that, you know, I got some baggage with that particular branch of magic. I- I could probably…”

“Really, Will. Nothing you don’t want to do. If you’re eager to help, though, I’m sure it doesn’t have to be a memory spell... Maybe you could go into his mind, like you did that one time for me when that whole Glory situation was happening and I got catatonic?”

“Sure, yeah, I can take a look,” Willow said, sounding relieved with an edge of apprehension, “But, Buffy, are you sure this is totally the right thing to do? Don’t get me wrong, I’m all for Spike getting his memories back- totally in your corner! But, does he want them? Like, have you tried asking William? Maybe, maybe this was- was like a reset for him, a do-over, to be, you know, happy again?”

Buffy froze, a short silence falling between them.

“Forget what I said, I don’t know what I’m talking about-”

“No, Will, you have a point, there is a risk that I’m just trying to get him back to his old self simply out of selfishness, it’s… I’ve got a lot of complicated emotions running here. I just, I don’t know, I feel like it’s what Spike would want. You should have seen the look on his face when he materialized in Angel’s office, I looked into his eyes and he- he _knew_ me, Will. He reached out to me. I at least wanna give him the chance to talk to me about what he wants, about who he wants to be. And Lorne read his future, which turns out to be not so great, he’s fallen right out of his own time; I mean, it’s been over a century for him, and even a few months can be very…” She coughed, choking down the bitter memory of the strangeness she’d felt, in the ground for a whole lost summer at twenty. “Besides, it’s not like I can just jog his memory the old-fashioned way, I can’t take him to the hole-that-was-Sunnydale, and even if I could, what would I say? Here’s where you terrorised me and my friends with an axe on parent-teacher night, oh, and this is the bench where you and your crazy girlfriend Drusilla killed a homeless man, here’s the crypt where we- you get my point. I haven’t even been able to bring myself to tell him who he was. Come on, Will, you’re my only hope. Oh god- pretend like I didn’t just quote Star Wars.”

“I’m so telling Xander! Uh, about you going all Princess Leia, not the- the,” Willow lowered her voice, “Spike situation.”

“Yeah, got that, thanks.”

“I’m really glad you can trust me with this, Buffy, I don’t want to let you down. Oh, but, um, I might be busy for a couple days, is that okay or- or is this an emergency, because if you need me right away-”

“Not an emergency, besides, if you left right away I think Dawnie might go all dagger-eyes and get with the Nancy Drew impression.”

“Good idea, I’m not so good under the Dawnmeister’s interrogation, I just know I’d crumble like a cookie and blab the whole sitch.”

Buffy laughed, picturing Willow’s time-honoured ‘I’m-totally-not-lying’ face, then looked up and spotted Fred walking towards her. “Gotta go, Will, thanks again- text me when you’re planning to speed on up here, maybe tell the gang you’re bringing me some slayer stuff.”

“Got it. Let me know if there’s any big emergencies, or hey, if anything, you know…” Buffy could hear the smirk in Willow’s voice as she hung up.

Fred came up level to smile at Buffy as she slipped her phone back into her pocket. 

“Hey Fred, how’s the research going?”

“He seems to be in great shape, considerin’. You’d think we’d find some kinda anomaly but he’s almost unnaturally healthy, asides from, well, he’s lacking a little in the nutrition and vitamins department, especially that pesky vitamin of the sun-catching variety, but that’s a given. Who’d’a thought a century of strollin’ round Europe as a walking corpse and then being burnt alive could keep you in such good shape?”

“So he’s not…”

“His brain activity is completely normal, if that’s what you were going to ask. Oh!” Fred shifted the clipboard into her other hand before rifling through her lab coat pocket and pulling a key out, pinching it between her fingers. “I suppose you’ll be needin’ this, the key to your apartment, of course.” She winked conspiratorially. “I got them to put you up somewhere with no previous murders and lots of floor space.”

“Thanks, Fred! Oh, but will my stuff be there? I’m thinking I might wanna brush my teeth.” She took the key and pocketed it.

“Sorry, I think that won’t arrive ‘til tomorrow mornin’, if you’d like I’m sure I can fix you up with some clothes of mine, we can stopover on the way to your shiny new place, there’s even a pretty good pizza place next to my building- it’ll be a ton of fun.”

“I’d like that- oh my god.” Buffy shot the closed door a wild look. “My phone call was longer than expected, William’s been waiting for me this whole time. I’m just gonna say goodbye.”

“Sure thing, I’ll make my way down to the lobby if you don’t mind.”

Buffy kept to the doorway of the room, hand holding the door handle tight. “Sorry for taking so long.” She found William sitting in the same position she had left him in and felt a twinge of guilt.

“Bu- Miss Summers… No, no, not at all. Will you be leaving me, then?”

“Is that okay?”

“Of course. I wouldn’t hope- I wouldn’t dream to put you out. I-” He stood up. “Do not feel you must stay on my account.”

Buffy looked at him for a moment, the sharp planes of his face, long lashes half-covering his eyes, the soft corded muscles of his forearms made visible by the cropped sleeves of the hospital gown, a clear visual tie to his life as Spike, though one that he wouldn’t know to recognize. A pain struck her heart and she wondered if all she was doing was right by him. 

“I’ll be back here tomorrow, William.”

His bright blue eyes meeting hers, he nodded. 

“Tomorrow.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A metronome (métron: ‘measure’, némo: ‘I manage/lead’) is an instrument that's typically used for practicing music. It makes clicking sounds at a regular interval, the tempo can be adjusted and usually goes by beats per minute.   
> If you're curious as to how I imagined what William looks like this chapter: https://twitter.com/geezozz/status/1361637259997368330?s=20


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